Ye Olde and Slightly Stupide Chronicles of Potter
by threesadlostogslightlymadsouls
Summary: A thoroughly random account of Harry's 6th year at hogwarts, including a halfBeatle?, prescripted dragonfighting scenes, Southern preachers,weird obsessions, colorblind baconhungry flashbacks,Pooh Bear, and, most importantly, doom! Please read and review
1. Boywholikestoscreaminhormonalangst

_Disclaimer: You know, its always confused me, didn't we write it? I mean, shouldn't we at least own it? (JK Rowling steps in) Um, actually, Charletto, u see, you took my story…_

_Me: What?? No I didn't! this is MY story!_

_JK: Um…well…im sure it's a bit too difficult for you to understand…er…_

_Me: Yes! It is! I don't understand it! Therefore it must not be possible! I own Harry Potter!_

_Cocabella: Um, Charletto, this is a disclaimer._

_Me: for what?_

_Cocabella: sigh…(turns to reader) we don't own Harry Potter. We'd love to, but that privilege belongs to our extraordinarily fortunate friend JK over here…_

_Emmy: coca! Shhhhhhhhhh! since when did u become the responsible one?!(pushes JK out of picture, then catches cocas eye) Oh, fine. We don't own this. Whatever. (bursts into spontaneous tears)_

CHAPTER ONE: Boy-who-likes-to-scream-in-hormonal-angst

It was dark and stormy and mysterious and mystical and very cliché at the Scottish castle which has mastered it's use of overly used phrases! Ya…Hogwarts. Well, back anywhere from 1-200,000 miles away, it was bright and sunny because it was not near Hogwarts-fa la! Isn't it amazing how King's Cross, the beginning of our lovely heroes' journey to their sixth year at the esteemed school of witchcraft and wizardry, is always a happy-do-dah bright, sunny day! But miles away it is mysterious and foreboding. Oh well!

As always, Herm, Harry , and Ron were sitting on the train, talking avidly of the summer gone, the school year to come, and Harry's imminent and gruesome death. Of course. Well, actually, Ron was talking. Exuberently. The _only one_ talking. And on only one subject.

"He must be waiting for an idea to cause you an excruciatingly painful death, Harry! Like killing you with crucio-you know, slowly and painfully, and then using Legillimus to send you pictures of your dear, old rotting dad and mum at the same time! They really must be rotting now, that is, if they haven't been devoured by flies or something- they never got a burial, did they? Cause you'd have been able to visit their ancient and worthless graves, wouldn't you? Hmmm…or did the house blow up too? Naw…cause you were in it, and you would have died. That would have been smart of Old Vold Mold-just blow up the house! Then you would be dead too. Bloody waste of time killing your mum and dad individually, wouldn't you say, Harry? Harry?"

Harry listened to the rain pounding on the train, as they neared Hogwarts. Of course, the closer they came, the more the rain grew steadily harder and heavier, and Harry grew more tuned out, focusing on each rain drop, trying to drone out his "friend."

"-wonder how much Voldie wants to kill Harry, 'mione?", said Ron, having so far mysteriously failed to engage Harry in such obviously riveting conversation. "What you'd figure he'd do if we-?"

Harry made a heroic attempt to change the subject off his future death. It just wasn't a very happy topic for him, for reasons unknown. "God, listening to these raindrops-it's torture-makes your mind melt….zone out."

"Oh stop whinging, Harry!" said Hermione, after a moment of silence filled with the sound of little cogs working for a moment in order to process the slightly off-putting, and, ultimately, totally irrelevant change of subject. "Wait…he has a point. Do you think we could sell-"

"the idea to U- No- Hoo (musn't let Harry know who we're talking about, thought Ron, no, my precious, we mustn't let him know, he would find out, he would take it from us, yes he would, precious, then we would have to do terrible things, wouldn't we, precious, tricksy fat hobbitses trying to steal it from us, must kill them, mustn't we precious, must kill them must kill MUST KILL GOLLUM GOLLUM GOLLU-ahem.)….Chinese Water Torture…bet he's never thought of that one! How much do you'd think it'd go for?"

"Well…I'd say 'bout 200, 300 galleons. Better if we had an auction though, now….who other people despise Harry and would like to kill him, with a leisurely, agonizing death, of course?"

Ron started counting on his fingers, "Snape, Cho, Colin Creevy, me….."

Harry decided to leave. Anywhere was better then a cabin in a train on the way to a cliché, yet welcoming castle, listening to his two best friends try to sell off his death to all the people who had ever disliked him.

He stood up, and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. He was mad, ohsoverymad, veryveryangryohyeshewas. He wanted to scream. Screamscreamscream. He couldn't keep his hormonal rage inside any longer. He was going to scream. But just when he opened his mouth a pale hand covered it, wrestling Harry to the ground. Harry, being a dunce, had left his wand in his fluffy, sparkly yellow slippers.

_Oh, Snaps!_, the-boy-who-was-pinned-to-the-floor thought!

A nastywasty voice whispered in his ear, "Now, Harry…shouldn't go wandering off alone on a train that is supposed to be safe when DRACOMALFOY (one word) is walking about. Because I am DRACOMALFOY! And I, being DRACOMALFOY, will do something supremely horrible to you! Because, and only because, I am DRACOMALFOY!"

Harry smirked, assured that someone would come out into the center aisle of the train-the only thing keeping them from hearing the commotion DRACOMALFOY-ahem, _Malfoy,_ had made by yelling his name were doors-sure, they all had mirrors on them, but that wouldn't help much, would it? Besides, some were open. But, DRAMATIC GASP!

And the realization hit Harry like a train running at full speed (rather like this one, except that it wasn't actually traveling at full speed, because if it was the occupants would be nothing more than raspberry jelly on the carpet…remember kids, magic is wonderful, but under no circumstances should one push a _magical_ train up to full speed. And not at home. _Especially_ not at home. Well, not…anywhere, really. It may just be the very last thing you do. Dun. Dun. DUUUUUUUN.)- no help was coming, because that would mess up this sequence of events into which he was pinned to the floor, and there would be no point in Draco pinning him…and the "plot" of this chapter would be ruined!

_Oh, woe is me! What perilous and fatal things shall Malfoy do to me? If only I could yell…I'm very good at that, you see! I work out my screaming vocal cords every day for 45 minutes! I hope my natural yelling capabilities will not be destroyed if he beats me to a pulp!_, thought Harry urgently.

Malfoy brought at his wand, pointing it directly at Harry's head and mumbled under his breath. Harry held _his_ breath, waiting for his death, or temporary transformation into a ferret or guinea pig…he'd always been fond of those. If he was going to be turned into an animal at least it could be a cute wittle fuwwy _boochiboochiboo_… He held his breath…..and held it……..and held it……and held it…..and suffocated…..and died.

Just kidding!

He held his breath, and not wanting to suffocate, he let out, reaching for air, filling his lungs with the effing (funny word) stuff. He wondered what had happened. He didn't feel any different.

"Well Potter! If this doesn't ruin your short life, I don't know what will! Don't you feel it Potter?!? It might take awhile to kick in…."

It did, and Harry had a chance to glance around the room, at the doors-hoping someone would come out and save his scrawy little life from DOOM! But no one did, and before he could scoff at Malfoy, telling him he was a stupid little teddy, he passed out. DOOM!

_More coming, but only if u review! (swings clock in front of reader's eyes) YOU MUST REVIEW…REVIEW…REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEW…oh, whatever, u get the idea. R&R. please. Pretty please. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr..._


	2. DOOM! and Ringo Starr

_For the disclaimer, get some exercise, move that finger and look at the last chapter. Sorry, but too lazy right now to right another one. Lol._

CHAPTER TWO: DOOM! and Ringo Starr

When Harry woke up (undoubtedly to his DOOM!), .029283845758 (and a half) seconds later, he was greeted by the person who had been there .029283845758 (and a half) seconds before: Draco Malfoy. "HA! Potter! What! Do! You! Think! Of! That?"

Harry stared into space, trying to recollect what had happened. All he remembered was Malfoy, his hand over his mouth, pinning him to the floor. He looked around and….the mirrors! He had seen something. Was it a vision? Did Voldemort see visions too-a seer, maybe? Was he going to become even cooler and more heroic and popular? Oh no, this was just too rad.

And then he looked in the mirror, and his jaw dropped. "Gasp!" he said. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" And he curled his knees up to his chest, folding his arm around those, and tucking his head between his knees, crying in his DOOM!

Malfoy shrieked gleefully, hopping around and taking pictures with a…….wizard camera? Ya, that's the one…..a wizard camera. Merrily he skipped, admiring how clever he was, and the amazing resolution the photos of Harry curled up into a ball rocking back and forth were coming out in. He liked cameras. Cameras were special. Camera, camera, camera. They were good for blackmail.

Dobby, always there when Harry needed him, popped out of the (place random noun here) and comforted him, patting his head and questioning him, "What has happened to Harry Potter? Dobby wants to know, sir. Please tell Dobby, sir."

Harry raised his head and looked at Dobby, wondering if this ugly, disgusting, horrible, yet terribly cute creature could be of any help. Dobby stared back, astonished at what he saw.

The boy-who-lived saw Dobby staring and admitted it to the world. "I admit it to the world! My hair is straight! Not playfully messy! And my eyes are a dull gray-blue, not a fierce impassionating green! I'm….I look…..exactly like……………Ringo Starr!" He burst back into tears.

"Dobby thinks this is not all that bad, sir. Dobby likes Mr. Starr, sir. If Dobby might say so, Ringo Starr is rather handsome."

Harry, in his state of shock and distress, had begun hallucinating. As usual, first he saw his mom screaming loudly, saving his life, and dying….yadda-yadda-yadda. Then he saw Ginny saying he looked rather handsome as Ringo Starr. He awoke from his pleasant figment of the imagination and saw it was Dobby. A house-elf. An ugly one. And burst into tears. Again. Oh, the angst.

Malfoy, being ignored by the author of this fanfiction, decided to pop in again. "I am DRACOMALFOY. And, _Potter_, in case you're too stupid to realize this-which you undoubtably are, I screwed up the entire plot of seven best-selling books!!!! Mwahahahahahahahacough. J.K. Rowling enforced the idea of you having your mother's eyes so much that it must have some relevance to the plot-or she had writer's block!! Nyhaa! And now you won't be able to meet the half-blood-prince! Neener neener!"

Harry sobbed, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAnd I don't don't don't-I can't say itcough sniffle choke I don't _look_ good!"

Dobby sighed, "Oh the trials of being a teenager, sir." And popped back out through said random noun.

Malfoy, during Dobby's one-liner, had been staring intently at Harry, head in his hand. "You know, Potter, the house-elf's right. You do look hot."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!," screamed Harry, running into the cabin Hermione and Ron were sharing and crashing into the mirror door, trying to see if he really did look hot. Oh. My. Dearie Me.

_Well, that's that till next chappie, folks...Except for one. last. warning. Bwahaha._

_You. Must. Review. Or. I. And. My. Fellow. Fanfictionists. Will. Hunt. You. Down. DOOM (trademarked...teehee)._


	3. Southern Preachers and really pointless ...

_Alright, we apoligize to all out there with Southern accents, we really can't quite grasp it...So, yes, this particular bible-thumper sounds very, very strange. Deal with it. _

_Oh, and we dont own this. Except for the preacher. And bobo the hobo. Wait, is he even in this? Shoot, i cant remember...ugh, whatever. ;)_

_Oh, and if you don't get the bit about the sausage, don't worry, we don't either, it just...sort of...showed up. Like, weirrrrrrrrrd man. _

CHAPTER THREE: Southern Preachers and Pointless Chapters

Miraculously, Harry managed to make it back to his seat next to Ron unharmed- except for a rather large bump on his Ringo head. Which really hurt. A lot. It hurt quite a lot. It throbbed horribly, and every move he made felt like his head was going to split open. Yes, Harry was in terrible, terrible pain. I mean agony. Yes, he was in agony, writhing and moaning in pain, it was so very excruciating. It was as if his head had been stabbed with a hot knife. Er…_lots _of hot knives. Very hot knives. Yes, Harry's head was being stabbed by multiple hot knives and was on fire, it was so very excruciatingly painful that-BLAM(author falls over dead, having been shot, then is resurrected miraculously because obviously as you can see the fic goes on and therefore needs someone to write it, capeesh?) Fine. Harry's head hurt. Whatever.

Ron was still figuring out how many people hated Harry- Hermione had helped, transfiguring 14 extra hands(Ron wasn't a very good counter)

"Old bagel man person, House-elf 346, that boy in Hufflepuff in 2nd year, his dead mum and pop, whatshisname, Pans-"

Harry was still quite traumatized, poor thing, and it took him a while to figure out what Ron was blabbing on about. Gathering himself, he shouted, "MY MUM AND DAD? (laughing) MY MUM AND DAD? Why on earth would they want to kill me? They're passed away."

"Be that as it may, Harry, rumor is, you screamed a lot as a child- puked all over your mum's favorite shirt. I'd want to kill you if you did that to me," explained Hermione.

"THAT MAY BE BLOODY WELL TRUE, but they're dead!" Harry liked to scream. He did it anytime he had the chance. I guess when you hear your mother screaming really loudly all the time, you feel you have to compete. Family rivalry. Tsk tsk. Very sad.

"The-Boy-Who-Lived, The-Boy-Who-Lived, The-Boy-Who-Lived…" Ron said, patting Harry's back, "Don't worry, they'll come back if they have a chance to kill you."

Ron looked at Harry for the first time, trying to see if his friend was feeling any better. "HOLY SHITE, YOU'RE NOT HARRY. YOU'RE, YOU'RE-"

"Ringo Starr!" screamed Hermione, fainting.

"Now look what you've done! Scared my dear 'mione half to death. Get out, and bring Harry back!"

"But I am Harry!" screamed Harry!

"Well, in that case…."

Ron dramatically conjured some sausage, swore, then ate it all-stuffing it down his throat, with short breaks for water, to Harry's amazement.

Ron muttered "preacherous comicus!" and made several very complicated movements with his wand. Surprising everyone, the author included, a Southern preacher appeared.

"Damn good it worked this time, don't think I could've eaten any more spicy and delicious Cajun cooking," mumbled Ron, rubbing his stomach. His amazing metabolism had made him even thinner over the summer. He still wasn't handsome though. He was rather pale and sickly looking. Ron had self-esteem problems. Ron was a very sad and anxious little teen. Dear, dear.

The preacher, hearing the red-haired chap swear, rushed over and hit ron with the newspaper he happened to be holding, yelling with his gospel, Southern, sing-song voice, "_Tonight! I'll be your naaaaaauuuughty giiiiiirl_!coughed Um…Sahrry, don't know whut cayme over may."

Ron stared, mouth agape.

"Uh, back to whut ah was saying. Layve him evil, layve this boy! Layve! Ah commaynd yew, spawn o'the devil, be gawne!" he continued, whacking Ron repeatedly.

"Ow. It's. Ouch. Him. Ow. Not me. _Ow_."

The Southern preacher looked in the general area in which Ron had feebly pointed.

"Whaaaaaaaaa….Ringow Stahrr! Bless this day, Laurd! An autograyph, playse?" he questioned, smiling nervously.

Harry pulled down his trunk from the metal rack above him. He pulled out an autograph book and feathered pen:_ Glad thing I decided to be prepared this year, never know when fame and fortune beckons!_

Ron looked at him from the ground quizzically.

Harry smiled proudly, "I'm always prepared. Ringo….how do you spell that?"

"R-I-N-G-O, bingow, but with an 'r'," supplied the priest, jumping up and down like a crazed fan-girl.

Harry-Ringo scrawled his new name on a piece of paper, handing it to the priest, and beaming a dazzling smile.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! ah'm BLAHND!" screamed Ron and the Southern Preacher in unison, suddenly convulsing.

"Ringo, shut your mouth!" shouted Ron frantically.

"I didn't say anything, Ron!" said Harry, still grinning. He had come to terms with his new name. Sure…he wasn't as handsome, but this gorgeous smile thing came in handy.

"No, just close your effing mouth!"

Harry closed his effing mouth.

"Ah can see again! Thaynk the Laurd! May yew never dahy, Ringow! May yew never dahy!"

Harry replied, the camera fixing on him a dramatic pose, voice steady and calm, yet manly and so masculine, "Don't worry. I never will."

"May the Laurd mayke sure of thaht staytement! Bless mahy stahrs, I met Ringow-Ringow Stahrr. No pun intended, belayve may. Ah, Ringow Stahrr! Ring-"

He was cut off short, Ron yelling "Preacherous Goicus Backicus Todiculus Wheredothren Youen Camos Fromus-ah _hah_!"

"Not only that, but he ruined my special camera moment!" whined Harry, "I had another minute and a half of dramatic and pregnant silence!"

Ron wrinkled his nose. "_Ew, pregnant?"_

_Yes, pointless. We know. Don't worry, we're not idiot delinquents. Er...especially not idiot delinquents locked up in padded cells and strait jackets in a guarded penitentiary for the criminally insane in the outer-most reaches of Siberia. Er._

_REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEW...BELIEVE ME,THERE IS MORE TO COME! BUT ONLY IF YOU REVIEW! ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! (smiles sweetly)_


	4. He Practiced, You see

_This is personally one of my favorite chapters, and I really would like to own it, but for some reason the computer says i don't. Something to do with co-pee-rig-ha-tis..._

CHAPTER FOUR: He practiced, you see

Once again, Harry was stuck in a train room/booth/thing (yes, thing) with Ron and Hermione. Hermione was still knocked out and lying on the floor, but who cares! Southern Preacher Person had been much more interesting.

Ron sat down next to Hermione, patting her entity of hair gently. He did so for several minutes, while Harry stood, feeling out of place, and thinking about all the random events that had just happened. Finally he sat down with a thump.

Ron looked up from Hermione's peaceful face and mountain of frizz, "WTF! How the bloody hell _are you_?"

"Harry….Harry Potter."

"Do you have-the-the-you-know?"

"Oh. Yeah," replied Ringo, lifting up the very long hair over his forehead and revealing a scar- _in the shape of a yellow submarine_!

"That's not a lightening bolt! And it's yellow! Ew."

"It is too a lightening bolt! You see….if you look at it…sideways…….."

"Well, in that case, Harry!"

"Ron!"

Hug, special uplifting music…

Harry and Ron spent the next thirty minutes looking at his new and improved scar from different angles, trying to see exactly where and how it looked like a lightening bolt.

"Ya….I think… I see it now," said Ron, standing on the ceiling.

All of the sudden a terrible crash was heard, and Ron hit the floor with a bang.

Hermione happened to wake up at this point in time. "Hey, who are you, and what have you done with Harry?"

"I am Harry."

"Oh. Okies!"

"What was that crash?"

Luna sauntered in, looking cooly at Ringo, "Ahh….transformations into famous people on the train to Hogwarts….the snigllevusses must be at it again."

Everyone ignored her.

"The train stopped! Something's wrong," exclaimed RingoHarry, hero senses tingling.

"You're so brave, Harry," swooned Hermione.

"You're so brave, Harry," imitated Ron in a sing-song voice, sneering. "_Neer neer neer neer…"_

"The snigllevus might come and kill you, Harry," added Luna wistfully.

Harry ran to the door of the compartment, pushing it open, and looked over his shoulder nagging, "Well….Are you coming or not!"

"Harry, you know we would never miss one of your adventures! We're your friends," said Hermione, elbowing Ron in the side and coughing loudly.

HarryRingo's heart swelled visibly. "Oh, Hermione!"

"Oh Harry!"

"Er…oh, Harry, Hermione! Ow! Um, and Luna!"

Hug…music…

They ran towards the front of the train.

Harry led, running in sloooooooooooo mooooooooo(Hermione decided this might add to the dramatic and actiony feeling of the situation). Other students had begun to get out of their compartments and look around, asking each other what they thought had happened. Suddenly a Ravenclaw girl pointed in the direction of the four students running in slooooooooow-mooooooooooooo. "It's Ringo Staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarr!"

"How do you know?" asked a blonde Hufflepuff, standing beside her.

"I'm a Ravenclaw, I know everything."

"Oh. Right. It's Ringo Staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarr!"

Fan-girls(and a few boys) ran in HarryRingo's direction (in slooooooooo mooooooooo), screaming and trying not to trip as they searched their robes for papers and pens.

Harry stopped running. "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat Dooooooooooooooo Weeeeeeeeee Dooooooooooooo?" the shaggy-haired lad asked, deep voice an added affect of the slooooow moooootion process.

Before he began to ask again, Ron sluggishly ran in front of Harry, jumping sideways, right in front of the flow of fankids.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" shouted Harry, Ron, and Luna in unison. Harry continued the "OOOOOO!" for a few extra seconds. He liked yelling. He practiced, you see.

"Gooooooooo oooooooooooon wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiithout meeeeeee, Riiiiiiiiiiiiiingo!"

Hermione fought back tears(very slowly) and Harry nodded solemnly (very slowly). Luna stood, staring into space (very slowly). Hermione brought out her wand (slowly), adjusted the rules of time and space (slo- oh.), and tugged on Harry's sleeve, "Let's go."

Harry began running in recognition, skipping from fankid's head to fankid's head. The fankids who hadn't been brought down by Ron's selfless act, backed against the wall, nodding in recognition of the heroic act they realized was being done.

The remaining heroes who hadn't been knocked down by crazed fangirls sprinted towards the front of the train. They happened upon no further obstacles until the compartment nearest the conductor's area.

Inside was standing a Hungarian Horntail. His fangs were bared, watching the three out of the corners of his vertical pupils. Her black scales blended in with the darkening room, night was upon them. All HarryRingo could see was the pair of yellow eyes, gazing intently on the three, unblinking. HarryRingo's hero sense tingled again, he knew exactly what to do. (Ooooooooooooo…)

For a detailed description of what happened, open your copy of HP 4 and read P. 353-356, starting with "to focus his mind, entirely and absolutely, upon the thing that was his only chance…," and ending with "he had seized the golden egg-")!

HarryRingo had seized the golden egg! Hermione's and Luna's cheers could be heard above those of the crowd. Dead Bagman had even spoken down from Heaven during the event, it was so spectacular.

HarryRingo held the golden egg in his arms, triumphantly raising it above his head, and sailing back towards the ground, dropping the random Firebolt.

_Think, Harry, think, what do I do now?_

A lightbulb (so, muggle inventions are good portrayers of a sudden idea-don't blame me) appeared above HarryRingo's head. "I know!" proclaimed Harry triumphantly.

Harry threw the golden egg at the dragon's stomach. The Horntail clutched its stomach with it's scaly hands, spinned around thrice, and keeled over dead.

And Harry defeated the dragon in only seven paragraphs! Ooh, Aah…

HarryRingo, hands on his knees and bent-over, gasped for breath. Luna and Herm stared at HarryRingo in awe. Ooooooooo…

"We'd best be going, then," said Luna after five minutes of staring at HarryRingo in awe while he was posing heroically, paparazzi snapping pictures every second.

HarryRingo stopped mid-pose and glanced at Hermione, who was also looking at Luna, confused.

Luna noticed them, "What?"

"Well….we thought you'd be staring into space for the next ten minutes, fantasizing about snigllevusses," said Hermione. HarryRingo nodded.

"So?"

"So, why did you remind us that we should get along with the plot?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Because the author felt sorry for me, as I didn't have any lines since I last mentioned that Harry might be murdered tragically by the snigllevusses. And she thought we should get along with the plot."

"But we're not doing that now," pointed out Hermione.

"Doing what?" said Luna absently, staring off into space and fantasizing about snigllevusses.

"_NEVER MIND_!" exclaimed HarryRingo. He liked to yell. He practiced, you see. "Let's just go," he said, pushing Luna past the deceased dragon, towards the conductor's door. Hermione followed, trying to catch the paparazzi's attention, but failing miserably.

Harry attempted to open the door, but it was locked, or stuck. He didn't care, he just had to get past it and save the day!

"Alahamora!" shouted Luna, pointing her wand at the lock.

"You're acting suspiciously out of character today, Luna. I think it would have been more appropriate if I had done that."

Luna didn't respond, she was staring off into space fantasizing about snigllevusses.

"Shitoki mushrooms!" shouted HarryRingo. "Damn! It didn't work!"

"Oh, move over!" said Hermione, rolling her eyes. She kicked the door, sporting large combat boots and camouflage pants. "Hiiiiii YA"

It swung open, revealing a house-elf drinking a frappacino, his legs up on what appeared to be a control board. Funny, having a control board on a train which could have easily been run by magic.

"Vanilla or mocha?" asked Luna, interested.

"Uh…Mocha," grunted the pot-bellied elf, checking the felt-tip marking on the side of his cup.

"What happened here?" asked Harry, hands on his hips.

"The train stopped."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Dun care. I just work here," replied the elf with a flick of his hand, "go away."

"Not until we get the train moving."

"Harry, you search the train for some lever to get it moving again. Luna, you do the same. I'll try to call for backup."

"Kk!"

"Ya."

Luna turned the left and begin searching the walls for any kind. HarryRingo did the same on the right.

Hermione, remembering S.P.E.W., _politely_ dema-asked the house-elf to move out of the seat, and when he refused, _politely_ shoved him off. She sat down and began fiddling with the controls.

HarryRingo ran his hand along the wall, constantly glancing over his shoulder at Luna. He couldn't let _her_ find the switch. He couldn't let _her_ be the hero! Arghgrmurmbleblehblehmumblemumblegrruffgrumgrumgrummeeniemeeniemeenie…He wanted to yell. He liked to yell. He practiced, you see.

"Hermione, I think I found it," said Luna, dispassionately, moving her hand towards a switch with big red letters above it: "ON/ OFF."

HarryRingo glared at Luna, then decided this was a good time for a heroic, heartstopping moment of suspense. "LUNA! NOOOOOOOOOO" and ran towards the switch, diving ohsolike superman, hoping to hit it before she did. Luna hit the switch, and the train began moving.

HarryRingo narrowed his eyes at Luna, then snatched at the wall. He hit the on/off switch again, and the train stopped, causing a loud, collective moan to echo from the back of the train. He swelled his chest, and immediately hit the switch again. The train lurched forward for a second time.

"Ah…I see the train has begun moving again. Well, looks like just another job well done!" he smiled, pleased. He deepened his voice to sound more like Superman, who is very cool.

"You're so brave, Harry," swooned Hermione.

_Remember, folks: POINTLESS IS GOOD. AS IS STUPID. so take the time to review. pleez. Yes, REVIEW, damn it,its what you do when you read fanfics. We're gonna run out of chapters to post and WILL NOT POST MORE IF WE DONT GET REVIEWS. Arrrrr.Now, please stop reading this and review. No, I mean it. Really. Stop. Just...STOP IT! FINE! see if i care, wasting your time on an equally pointless end note instead of reviewing like good little readers! argh! dear, sweet jesus in heaven, what is this world coming to? (throws hands up into air, retreats back into depths of bedroom) Ow! coca, stop it! no! ow! fine then, be that way! (pops head back out) Er, please. Ow! alright! prettyprettypleaseillbeyourbestfriendforeverandeverandyoucancometomybirthdaypartyand-(coca hits her again) just...review._

_(cheesy music) AFTER CHAPTER TRIVIAAAAA!: Judging by our bio, which member of the threesadlostogslightlymadsouls wrote that end note! Winner gets to choose between a tea bag, a spatula and a set of waterless cookware! The answer is coming up next on The Next Chapter, after these brief messages!_

_Oh, and a big thank you to broadway brunette for being our first and (coughonly) reviewer so far...u rock! Oh, brunette, why dont u have a bio? bio's are fun. heehee..._

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	5. The First Only Mildly Stupid Chapter So ...

**Disclaimer:** You know, sometimes I wonder why we have this. I mean, do you ever think J.K. Rowling is going to write fanficion? Or would she sue her undoubtably creative and loving fans?

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CHAPTER 5: The first only mildly stupid chapter so far 

After saving the students of Hogwarts from DOOM, the three heroes ran back to their fallen friend, assured the train would run until they got to Hogwarts. Ron was found propped up against the wall sleeping. Harry could tell by the snores which could be heard a full compartment beforehand. No wonder Hermione didn't like him.

At least, so Harry thought. (oooh forshadowing, use your highlighters, take a note, class…)

Hermione and HarryRingo lifted Ron, waking him, and draped an arm around each of their shoulders. Thus, they carried him back to their compartment.

Luna decided that she would much rather entertain herself alone then time boringly spent with the three friends. So, she went off by herself. Good for her.

"Ron, we couldn't have done without you," said Hermione, checking to see if he was alright.

"Ya we _could've_." Harry's eyes were slightly glassy as he drifted into fantasy for a moment. "I could've done anything by myself. Did you see the way I defeated that dragon? I was perfect. Beautiful. Majestic."

Hermione looked at Harry. "Oh, really? Ok, never mind, then, Ron. Harry's right, you're useless!" she said happily.

Ron sighed, "Sure, Harry. Now, I never got the chance to ask you when we saw you before school- how long exactly did you stay at your Aunt and Uncle's? Was it any different?"

The train came to a stop, and the three could here commotion coming from other compartments, students were obviously getting off.

"I'll tell you later. Let's go see Hagrid and eat- I'm starved."

"Same- the food cart didn't come around this year, bloody lady-last year she cheated me out of three knuts. I was hoping to give her a piece of my mind this year, if you know what I mean…." Ron waggled his eyebrows in just the way that summoned the obligatory sigh and roll of the eyes from Hermione (aka. Charletto…cough).

"Sure, Ron…." Herm said, reflexively.

The three grabbed their trunks and stood in the line before the door, waiting to get off the train. Suddenly HarryRingo's hero senses were tingling again.

"Wait. Wait a moment. We're all of the sudden dressed in our robes. You were just in combat boots. And I was wearing muggle clothes." Harry pondered this concernedly in only the way that a teenage hero main character of a young adult's book pauses formidably as another troubling clue is inevitably uncovered that (of course) quite possibly leads to the heart of the matter, in which there will be some nicely done heroic climax where good will beat evil somehow or whatever. It's compulsory, you see.

"Oh, good, we're over the compulsory part, now we can get back to the story." Hermione was cheerful today. "Thanks, Harry."

Ron, however, was captivated by the prospective action and (Ooooo!) _conflict! _"I've been thinking about that, Harry. I never put on camouflage if I remember…and I certainly didn't change back. Something strange is going on here. And the way Luna acted all out of character. I really think that-"

But Ron never had the chance to say what he really thought, because at that moment they heard a familiar voice, which seemed to be emitting from a mountain-shaped pile of fur holding up a lantern and plowing through a sea of black-robed students, "Firs' years… follah me! Firs' years!"

"It's Hagrid!" shouted HarryRingo.

"Really? I never would have guessed…I thought it was McGonagall..."

"C'mon," said Hermione, pushing ahead to get out of the door, "Let's go say hello before he loads the first years onto the boats."

They pushed ahead, annoying several students who, if they hadn't just saved the day, would have glared at them and sneered.

"Hey! Hagrid! Wait up!"

The large mass of fur paused and looked behind it-ahem, _him_.

"HarryRingo, Hermione, Ron! Good ta see you all here again. How was your summer, HarryRingo?"

HarryRingo perked up, "Well, besides dwelling over the death of the only person who ever really cared for me, and the most father-like figure I had, and realizing it was all my fault because I didn't use the blasted mirror, then having to endure another few months with those ((() the Dursleys, and then somehow having to survive four pointless and painful chapters of humor and parody on the train containing southern preachers, sloooooooow moooooooootion, mocha frappachinos, DRACOMALFOY, pre-written dragon-fighting scenes, screaming, Ringo Starr, and DOOM, it was OK, I guess. Yours?"

"I was stayin' here most o' the summa. Been training Grawp and all. They wanted me to git 'im ready fo' what's ta come."

"_They_ wanted you to train Grawp? _Grawp?_ You're not training Grawp to fight for the Order, are you Hagrid? He's dangerous, no matter what you think…. He might do more harm then good, for all we know. And we know a lot. Especially me. Er." Hermione blushed.

For just the smallest of moments, Hagrid glanced at Hermione with a glint of resentment and hurt in his eyes. It went away as soon as it came, and his momentarily faltered smile beamed once again.

"Ya know he's jus' a big baby. The training's been coming along grea', it has, really. Well, best be helping the firs' years git onto the boats, now. Be seeing you all at the feast, then." He waved and turned, parting the crowd like Moses, except he did it with his body. The perpetually frightened and confused first years were herded to the boats.

Hermione sighed in distress and turned to the boys. "You don't really think he's training Grawp for the Order, do you? What now? Is he going to fight on our side?"

"Hermione, we need all the help we can get. Voldemort seems to have a few giants on his side. And Hagrid looks fine." Harry replied.

"Harry's right, Hermione," supplied Ron. "And did you see his face? He had no bruises. It seems like he's telling the truth-everything might be okay."

Hermy sighed, shaking her head and crossing her arms, "I know….I know-it's just that a lot of funny stuff's been happening recently. And I just don't think it's safe. And we need more conflict, especially after that _bloody_ four-chapter train ride. I swear, they're feeding us crack in the chocolate on that cart." Ron laughed.

Harry suddenly shifted and became intensly interested in his shoe.

"I've always liked the chocolate..."

Aw…

The three threw their trunks into a carriage; Harry regarding the black skeletal creatures leading them with apprehension for a moment, and then hopping in, shaking his head as if to get an idea out of his mind. Ron and Hermione followed.

They spent the first few minutes in silent anticipation of the new school year.

Ron broke the quiet, "I wonder who the new DADA teacher is. Hope it's not worse then Umbridge."

Hm…Note the "it"…interesting…

"It _can't possibly_ be worse then Umbridge," Harry snorted, amused.

"Maybe since Umbridge is gone you can play quidditch again."

Harry turned to lean against the window, head in his hand, "Well, I should think so. No one at school liked her, except maybe Filch, who doesn't really count, 'cause no one likes him either. So I hardly think they'd continue her established laws. Not that the opinions of a _fat toad_ count, after all…"

The three chuckled.

No one said anything else until they got off the carriage, except for a little incident in which Ron stepped in invisible poo, apparently from the invisible beasts pulling the carriages. Herm stepped lightly down, delicately avoiding the general area in front of the door where the dung lay. "Good God, clumsy buffoon…" she muttered, smirking. Ron knew better than to point out that to him, the manure was invisible, but he sulked all the way up to the castle while trying to wipe the foul-smelling stuff off of his shoe before stepping into the squeaky clean and fragrant Great Hall. Which was difficult, because he couldn't see it, and so had to locate it by smell alone. Ew.

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**End Note:**Please R and R! I, Emmy, am sick, and have been so for the past few days. I haven't had a chance to write that many new chapters, and Charletto and Cocabella to correct them. So, we will only post a new chapter once a week. And theraflu is disgusting. Oh, and just to make sure we're all clear, I don't own that either. 


	6. As Always, In Which We Return to Our Lov...

I think we've all determined that I am not J.K. Rowling. None of us are. We all want to be, but face it, folks, we aren't! If, J.K. Rowling, you happen to be reading this...we love your characters and as you can tell, our inate writing ability causes us to write lovely stories. (hint, hint, nudge, nudge) ;) If you aren't J.K. Rowling, feel no need to call a publisher and just enjoy!

Thank you to all our readers, especially Broadwaybrunett and Sumrandumperson! We love you!

Oh, andwe realize that this is a relatively short chapter. Chapter 7 and 8 will be the same way, I'm sorry to say. But Chapter 9 will be extra long! We promise!

Read and review! Enjoy!

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CHAPTER 6: As Always, in which we get back to lovely randomness

The Golden Trio walked into the Great Hall. It was splendidly decorated as always. The same as always. Exactly the same. As always.

Fifty 11-year-olds were standing huddled in front of an old scrappy pointed hat. Despite Harry's petition to get a newer, younger, hipper hat, the sorting hat was the same as every year. As always. A number of the kids were looking a bit petrified, reminding HarryRingo of his 1st year at Hogwarts. Good times, good times.

Ron sat next to Ginny, who had arrived five minutes beforehand. She nervously said hi to HarryRingo before fainting.

Ron tried not to stare. "Girls…." was all he managed to say.

Before the red-haired girl hit the floor, HarryRingo heroically dived across the table, over a pit of fire, swam through a sea of sharks, battled and killed seventy two death-eaters, ate a soy bar, found seven knuts, and saved her from…well…hitting the floor. The crowd clapped. Except for the Slytherins, who booed and sneered. As always.

The sorting began.

"Adams, Mary!"

"Ravenclaw!"

The burst of applause came from the Ravenclaw table.

"Adams, Paul!"

"Gryffindor!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione all stood up and cheered.

"Adams, Phillip!"

"Hufflepuff!"

Average looking people with average abilities screamed averagely.

"Adams, Gwen!"

"Gryffindor!"

Harry screamed as loud as he could. Which was pretty loud. He practiced, you see.

"Adams, Lucy!"

"Slytherin!"

The Slytherin table cheered and sneered. Two Slytherins at the front of the table holding baskets handed Adams, Lucy an "I hate Harry Potter" pin.

"Adams, Peregrin!"

"What a weird name," sneered Draco.

"Look who's talking."

"Ravenclaw!"

"Adams, Tom!"

"Hufflepuff!"

The double ff's screamed averagely. As always.

"Adams, Gregory!"

"Ravenclaw!"

Several Ravenclaws clapped, others calculated in their overlarge brains. Why were there so many Adams's?

"Adams, Emma!"

"Hufflepuff!"

This went on for another 13.5 minutes. All the tables had stopped clapping, trying to figure out why there were so many people with the same last name.

"Adams, Elizabeth!"

"Gryffindor!"

Everyone in the Great Hall held their breath, there was only one student left. Was his last name Adams?

"Zigterman, Charles!"

"Slytherin!"

Zigterman, Charles sat down at the Slytherin table, after accepting a pin.

"What the bloody hell was that all about?" asked Ron, baffled. As always.

"Quatneuftuplets, forty-nine fraternal twins," explained Hermione informatively. As always.

Ginny's eyes widened. "My God, their poor mother…"

"Ew," said Ron, bad pictures coming to him.

"What a bloody, effing load of tosh!" exclaimed Harry.

And it was a bloody, effing load of tosh. As always.


	7. Damn You, ColorBlind BaconHungry Flashba...

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except bacon. I happen to be the very wealthy owner of thirty-seven pork factories in south-east Canada. Yes...**

**Hope you enjoy it! Chapter nine and ten are very, very long, as I promised. I wrote them on my ski trip and back at my homely abode. We are so dedicated to you...but not as dedicated as Broadwaybrunett and "Somebody"! Thank you!**

**Please read and review! **

**

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CHAPTER 7: damn you, obese color blind bacon-hungry flashbacks! **

"So, what was the summer like, my friend?" said Ron casually, though secretly trying to ebb towards the hint of a plot. Oh! Espionage!

Harry sat, leaning back in his chair and making nonchalant movements with his hands, his Zen perfectly balanced.

"Let me tell you in a series of flashbacks….."

_FLASHBACK_

Harry was sitting on his bed, bawling his bloody eyes out over some dead dude. The dead dude's name was Sirius. The situation was serious(pun intended). The non-Ringo boy got up and started smashing things. He threw his trunk in frustration. But, alors! His period of hormonal rage was interrupted by a grossly obese man, arteries so clogged the members of the American Heart Asssoctiation clutched each other in distress- except they didn't because they didn't care about the bloody Brits and probably didn't even give a further hoot as to whether or not this particular obese man died of a massive heart attack anyway-little did they know, there were three possessed American girls, loyal only to the queen and Harry Potter(they thought Mr. Prez was an ugly air-head). In any case, the man rammed open the door.

"We want bacon!"

"Can't you see I'm crying over the death of my godfather?" sobbed Harry between sobs.

"No. I'm color-blind."

"Doesn't mean you can't see my anguish."

"Uuuuuuuh…." Said Mr. Dursley, realizing that statement to be true. He thought hard. Why else could he not see that kid's anguish. Why else…why else why else why else why elsebaconbaconbaconbaconbacon…um…oh yes…

"And stupid." He said gleefully.

Harry felt pity on this man for the first time in his life. Being color-blind and stupid? He shook his head sadly. Drawing a Punnet Square in his mind, he pondered on whether little Dudley would get the color-blind gene. Or the stupidity one. But since neither show up as phenotypes-he didn't know. Or was it genotypes? Harry had another brief but profound vision. It was…a…a science teacher…and he was…American…and whose name was Flo- Flora- something about flour-cabbage? Oh well. Very sad, that.

And then his yelling switch turned on.

"Get your own bacon, you OBESE, donkey-hole!"

"Haha. You be bad at swearing," said Mr. Dursley, searching his brain for another insult to hurl at the Harry. Yes, the Harry. His eyes wandered on about the room, until they landed on Harry's outfit.

"Your shirt's orange and your pant's are yellow!"

Harry and five very queer men who happened to be standing in the doorway all gasped! Never! There couldn't possibly be such bad fashion by a main character of a best-selling sentilogy.

Harry looked down to his clearly green shirt and clearly blue jeans, sighing, relieved.

"Are not."

"Are too!"

"Are not."

"Are too!"

"Are not."

"Are too!"

"Are not."

"Are too!"

"Are not."

"Are too!"

"Are not."

"Are too!"

"Are not."

"Are too!"

"Are too."

"Are not!"

"HA! Told you!" and with a look of triumph, the boy-who-did-not-wear-orange-and-yellow-apparel left the room, preparing to serve the Dursley's every whim.

END FLASHBACK

"Well, Harry, that was informative," stated Herm, raising an eyebrow.

"Ya…some real insight into your life, there, mate."


	8. Very Strange Splitpersonality Flashback

**Disclaimer:** Guess what, guess what, guess what! I woke up this morning and I was like all J.K. Rowling-like! But it went away at lunch, so I'm not Mrs. Rowling anymore.

We love you reviewers! You all get individual comments this time, cause we're just cool like that.

**Broadwaybrunett**- We swear, you're one of our favorite people in the world. You make our day reviewing! And keep writing! I hope you like the chapter!

**LucyInTheSkyWithDiamonds7**-We love the Beatles too, and we realize the HarryRingo thing is confusing. HarryRingo will not be HarryRingo in a few chapters(eeewww...foreshadowing)

**notpreppyguy**- thanks for the review! Let's get down to business...and defeat...The Trump! Now, go soak in your oh-so-nonpreppiness

**Fraulein Hanto**- We love your name! It's so boosh!(not babooshka, though-tear-) Lol, the books are not going to be _exactly_ like this, but they'll be close! J.K.Rowling copies a lot of our ideas...

Yay! it's past 9:53, and I can post...

I'd write more, but I have a Cho-burning ceremony with VixenMage!

Well...what are you waiting for..read and review!

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**CHAPTER EIGHT: very strange split-personality flashback**

_FLASHBACK_

Harry was standing in a somewhat skimpy maid outfit, doing some kind of a dance in front of the pleased eyes of Mrs. Dursley. He stepped delicately on the couch and grabbed a pillow, playing with it. He then starte-

_END FLASHBACK_

Harry thumped his head, jerking it as though trying to dislodge water from his ear. "Erm…sorry…didn't want you to see that-"

Herm and Ron said nothing, mouths agape and eyes bulging, staring at HarryRingo. Herm backed her chair away from the table slowly, and Ron scooted closer to Seamus and Neville, who were talking about the empty seat at the teachers' table- the defense against the dark arts seat.

Harry coughed lightly and pretended to ignore the two.

_FLASHBACK_

A view of Harry dusting pictures of several peach beach-balls could be seen. A tear made its way down Harry's pale cheek. It was very sad, after all- having no baby pictures of himself. No family trips to the beach for Harry; no family reunions for the most famous boy in the wizarding world.

Harry straightened, shoulders back, face grimly set. As uncle (um…a different uncle…I think…) had always said, "'With great power comes great responsibility.'"

_Oh, life as Peter Parker is ever-so-miserable._

_What?_

He thought about this all day.

While making sandwiches for the family picnic (which he was no part of) he sighed, replaying his (other…?) uncle's last words in his head over and over again, staring off into space as he off-mindedly peeled grapes.

As he began working on Petunia's "To-do before we get home and abuse you list" his thoughts ventured to his (other) aunt, who had been so depressed after his (other) uncle's death. If only he had done something to stop it.

_Oh, life as Peter Parker is ever-so-miserable._

_Um…Harry…?_

He checked off #47 "wash maid costume," and began on #48, "clean master toilet." While putting on plastic gloves and beginning to wash what the Dursleys' called a toilet-but seemed more like a pot of scum to Harry, his thoughts drifted once more, this time to his only true-love.

_Oh, life as Peter Parker is ever-so-miserable. If it weren't for Mary-Jane I wouldn't have made it this far. It's all for her. _He repeated in his head. _It's all for her._

_Er…Harrrryyyyy…_

And when the two fat men and sickly thin woman came home that day, Harry's thoughts ran away from him yet again as he stared out the window absently while doing the dishes.

_How will I win my love? How will I prove to my best friend that I am loyal and did not kill his father? Or would not have if he weren't an idiot trying to take over the world. And if he didn't wear green. I've never liked green. Makes me think of scum and…nasty poison ivy._

_Erm…Harry!_

And so went the rest of his day: making dinner, cleaning windows, snipping hedges, washing more dishes, all, of course, with frequent intervals of (um…displaced) self-pity.

He had no rest until he was brushing his teeth that night with an old tooth brush of Dudley's. Better disgusting old spit going into your mouth then cavities that couldn't be cured until he returned to Madame Pomfrey's, eh?

_Oh life as Peter Parker is ever-so-miserable._

_Oh dear God…_

He absentmindedly shot a spider web at the plastic glass sitting on the moldy tile floor. He badly needed water.

_What the hell! My spidey-string isn't working! Shitoki mushrooms! I must be going through one of those phases when it goes on and off, again._

_Harry, I think you're getting a little confused…_

He sighed, pulling his shirt off over his head, revealing some well-defined muscles. Yes, doing chores is good for your abs.

_At least I'll still get all the chicks when I get back to Hogwarts…_

_Harry, stop._

He tossed the shirt on his bed, and began changing into his pajamas.

_Chicks really dig Abercrombie & Fitch on guys_ he thought, incorrectly, pulling on some blue striped pajamas (Insert lengthy description of pajamas here.). _I wonder if that shirt's A&F? Hmmm..._

_Good God, Harry! Stop it!_

He walked over to the bed and picked up his shirt. He searched for the label, first in the sleeve (Peter Parker just wasn't that smart), then the inside, and (aaaaah…) finally the top area near the collar. There was no tag, but there was some weird inscription in permanent marker.

"H-A-R-R-Y P-O-T-T-E-R," Harry spelled aloud.

An epiphany came to him. He remembered. No wonder the spidey stuff wasn't working. No wonder his crush on MJ was seeming to fade off. He wasn't Peter Parker! He was H-A-R-R-Y P-O-T-T-E-R!

_Sigh Well spotted, smart one…_

"Now that's just down-right spiffy!" smiled Harry. Life made much more sense now.

_END FLASHBACK_

"And that…is how I found my identity," whispered Harry dramatically, leaning in towards Ron and Hermione. His expression was intense, his eyes twitching in…um…seamless acting ability occasionally. Hermione had scooted closer during the flashback, trying to get a better look at Harry's stomach, which he was inconspicuously trying to puff out and pull his shirt in onto just a bit tighter.

Ron's ears turned the slightest of pink. He was jealous of Harry's impressive abdomen. He was jealous of that, but even more of Hermione's interest in Harry's stomach.

Ron had self-esteem problems. At the moment he thought he needed to work out. He was right.

"_But_… that's not all that happened this summer," said Harry, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. Not that it really mattered, because it was a flashback.


	9. Yeah! And a danish on Side

**Disclaimer:** This be une disclaimer. It do what disclaimers be do. Doo be, doo be, do.

How's this for a long chapter! It used to be longer, but we had to cut it in half. Anyways, we're hoping for lots of reviews! Thank you everyone for reviewing last time, but you know it people...you can do better!

As for not updating in two weeks-I'm an evil person. A very busy evil person. So see?

Yes.

Read, review, and enjoy!

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Chapter 9: Yeah! With a Danish on side

Harry was sitting on his bed again, reading a book McGonagall had assigned for his sixth year:

"How To Transfigure Better Than Yo Mama."

Good old McGonagall.

The title always made Harry laugh; he could already transfigure better than his mom. Lily Potter was dead. Dead people can't transfigure very well, you see? Get it? Get it? Ha ha ha…

So, Harry was reading. And yawning. It was only two weeks since he had returned to the Dursley's evil abode of abuse. Later he would thank them though; he learned how to cook well during his stay. Or maybe he wouldn't thank them. Obnoxious, ungrateful little snob. It was only two days after he was mystified by the realization that it was Voldemort he had to kill, not Doc Ock. He'd spent an hour blankly staring at his textbooks, wondering why they superbly and terrifically failed to say AP Physics. He was tired.

Only two weeks into the summer, and Harry was already studying. He wanted to be an Auror terribly. So he studied. Every few minutes he would open up Hermione's schedule, which was lying temporarily closed on his bed. The shouts that issued from it both kept him awake and gave him encouragement for yelling. Harry loved to yell. Loved, loved, loved. Lovely, yelling is. He practiced, you see.

Despite the hip, young lingo in the transfiguration book, Harry was getting bored. He glanced over to the window, wondering when Hedwig would be back.

"What is that?" he wondered aloud, his eye twitching like only Harry's eyes could.

Harry got up from the bed and walked over to the window.

"What you doin', dawg?"

"What, where? Oh…" Harry looked at his ghetto transfiguration book and sighed. He had blissfully forgotten that it spoke. Damn magic.

"Homie, I say, you. Whatchoo diggin' at?"

"Er. Yes," he said, attempting to ignore the fact that he actually hadn't much of an idea of what the book what actually trying to communicate in the first place.

Harry turned back to the window. He had opened it earlier for some air. Now something was sitting on it.

"I said, whatchoo trippin' bout?" the book said from behind him.

Harry picked up the odd object. "It appears that I am 'tripping about' a Swedish pastry," said Harry, picking up the Danish from the window sill and examining it. He looked out into the night sky for a Danish crop growing among the weeds and junk commonly found in the suburbs. Nope, no pastry crop. Hm. Strange, that.

Now that would be a good use of magic. Rather than rapping books…. 

"You making a joke, you think you a gangsta? Huh, huh? You think you all gansta, tripping about some bread, yo. In the ghetto we ain't got no bread, ma, every book fo' hisself, man, you no wha' im sayin' man? You wanna take this outside! You ain't got nothing on me, dude. You wanta take it outside man! I could take yoo ou' wi' my _eyes_ closed, man…"

Harry looked up from examining the pastry. "Yo' mama wanta take it outside," he replied in an imperious British accent, somehow managing to make the Z formation look dignified and distinguished.

The ghetto book looked affronted. "You-"

The book was cut off short as Harry replaced the Danish on the windowsill and firmly closed its cover. Muffled and disgruntled rapping could be heard from inside, then, miraculously, a heavy stereo beat played from, apparently, inside the pages. Harry briefly pondered the reasoning of a closed paper text-book somehow containing a large surround sound stereo, and then he ran his hand through his messy black hair and forgot all about it.

"Where did this come from?" he said, referring to the mysterious and random appearance of a pastry on his window-not that it was a bad thing, "Kind of odd. A pastry suddenly on the window. I mean, what are the odds?" Harry's keen and sharp intellect hunkered down for some serious deep thinking time, but he was rudely interrupted by an eerie wind, the window rattling slightly.

Harry moved towards it, in an effort to shut it. "Bloody eerie winds, always have to crop up just when I'm feeling comfortable, then I have to up-and-at-em, bloody villains, never give you a moments rest, damned plot, just _has_ to keep going, there's always something wrong when you want it to be right…" He peered down through the night. Sure enough, something was wrong. Then Harry's spidey-ahem, hero senses kicked in.

"Something's wrong!" he yelled heroically.

He leaned over the window and looked into the dark shadows below (of course, he didn't bother to look in the light shadows…) He didn't need spidey sense. He had Leading Character in the Biggest Series in a Decade Sense! His heroic cerebrum knew. It knew. Oh, yes. _Knew_.

"Oh no!" he cried, spinning around. But it was too late. He barely had the time to eat the Danish and grab his wand before a gust of wind from the inside of the room tipped him forcefully out the window.

He landed in a bush below with a thuddish thump. A cat shrieked and it pounced from the bush and frantically crawled under the fence. Harry swore as a light switched on somewhere inside the house. You had to give it to the Dursley's, at least one of them was color-blind and stupid, but none of them were deaf.

"Oh shite." Harry backed up against the wall in an effort not to be seen. It was pitch black outside, thankfully not a sunny night, the shadows were all properly dark, but just in case… In doing so, he knocked against something hard.

"What the…?" It seemed to be a book. He opened it. And froze.

"What the f-in hell was that man! Not fly, not hot homie!"

"No problem, I'll just throw the bloody book back up through the window and…damn, I wish we had a trellis," mumbled the boy in Abercrombie pajamas hysterically.

But before he could do so, he felt another object, an old newspaper or something. And he felt an annoyingly familiar tug behind his belly button.

* * *

Harry felt a rush of sickening movement, then landed with another thumpish thud in someplace that the author will not specify for lack of any inkling herself where and what the hell this particular place might be. It took him a few minutes to recollect himself.

"_That_ was unexpected…"

"Foshizzle, yo."

Harry froze for the second time in ten minutes. (No, five. No, three. Wait…) Rapping books do that to preppy Abercrombie-wearing boys. If only Voldemort and his posse knew about this…it would be so easy to make The-Boy-Who-Lived The-Boy-Who-Used-To-Live.

"What the bloody hell is that doing here?" said Harry angrily. Anger has to have a recipient of some sort, so we'll conclude that the recipient of Harry's anger was the world. Any sort of world who sends boys on adventures with rapping transfiguration manuals and Danish pastries is screwed. (a.k.a., the authors' imaginations…)

But stuck with sudden and obscure wisdom, he picked up his transfiguration school book and figured that the book just might save his life. Well, you never know.

"Besides," he said out loud, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And what does kill you makes you dead!"

Secure in his unfathomable intellect, the boy skipped off, book rapping in hand.

Take that, rewind it back

_Harry Potter got the brain to make your _

_Booty go (slap)._

Belatedly Harry began to pay attention to where he was (as did the author…). He kept skipping, glancing around left and right at the woods around him. The woods were thick, not only with trees, but with shadows. Harry tried not to stop skipping, even though some shadows seemed to be following him, stealthily slipping between the trees.

His skip had stopped, though not completely. Every few steps he would give a half-hearted, limping, alone little half-skip. He frequently looked over his shoulder. Maybe he was hallucinating, but the shadows still seemed to follow him.

Hey Potta', it's that fear

_That makes you skip papa_

_Get out your wand and_

_Make some light, Potta'_

"I would, but more underage magic and being released from the laws that apply to every other wizard in our world would really make me realize that I can't take care of myself, and that in the end, it's always my friends or teachers that save my famous arse. I'd rather deny that."

Harry continued his funny half-hearted skip, now genuinely scared.

"Hey, look- over there, in the distance- is that a light?"

Harry squinted, (not that this helped at all) and he became sure that there was indeed a light far off.

He took a look around. The shadows seemed to have disappeared for a moment. Maybe they were all a dream. Ooo. Fun. He liked dreams. They had people screaming.

As Harry approached, book in arm, he found the light to be a fire. Two people were standing near it. Harry came within one hundred feet of it, and stopped short. Now there was only one person at the fire, the other seeming to have disappeared, and Harry nearly gasped dramatically with recognition. It was Bellatrix Lestrange.

He prepared to turn around and half-heartedly skip in the opposite direction when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Were we going somewhere, Mr. Potter?"

Harry flinched as the voice whispered into his ear and blond hair flowed over his shoulder, then smiled cheerfully. "Well, actually, I was trying to esca-"

"You remember me, don't you, Harry? I believe my son is in your class…"

Harry didn't hesitate, he was well prepared for cliché conversations, "Yes, I remember you, Mr. _Malfoy_. I had no _idea_ how free you were. It's sad that Tom has no one better than _you_ to do his dirty work. Oh, and how's the _family_?"

"Aah…Voldemort could not be here tonight. He had…"

Harry took a moment to stash his book in his sweatshirt (which matched his pajama bottoms, thank you very much) as Lucius chose his words and led Harry to the fire.

"He had…other plans. He'll be absolutely delighted to meet you soon. You'll have to stay here tonight, I'm afraid."

Harry and Mr. Malfoy reached the fire. He hadn't bothered to try to run away. He knew he wouldn't get far. He was a good wizard, but he knew he wasn't good enough to take on two death eaters in the middle of an unknown forest. Especially, especially, if he didn't want to rip his pajamies. He doubted many girls liked the gangster look. And even if they did, he reckoned the pooh bear print didn't help much.


	10. In Which We Die Maybe Kind of?

**Disclaimer: I own everything in the entire world, including you. And pancakes. Woot!**

Okay, so...if you're a faithful reader of this story, you've probably been thinking that I may have stopped updating for forever.You were wrong. I was away for two and a half weeks, and had no access to a computer or the internet. I hope you forgive me.

A lot has happened since then, but not alot of writing. Sadly, I only have one more chapter ready for posting. I plan to write more over the weekend though, so the delay should'nt be too long.

I hope you all have been having a wonderful time, and review--so you don't die mysteriously and quietly. (sorry, i haven't been very creative lately)

Viva Chronicles!

**

* * *

**

So, it was while he was worrying about his clothing, instead of his life, that Mr. Malfoy stole his wand out of his back pocket.

"You should stop putting your wand in your back pocket, Mr. Potter."

Harry was confused. "But I thought it-"

"You thought it attracted girls' attention to your butt?"

"Well…yes…," said Harry, blushing. Well, why shouldn't girls look at my butt? Harry thought rebelliously. It's a very pretty butt, in my opinion. Also, everyone knows pooh bear prints hide cellulite.

Mr. Malfoy looked suddenly excited. "I thought _exactly _the same thing that I thought as a kid," said Mr. Malfoy, sitting down next to Harry with a thumppish pimpish thud.

"Trust me, it doesn't…promise me you'll stop wearing it there?" said the man, staring into Harry's green eyes.

Harry looked everywhere, especially away from Lucius, "Er….okay?"

"Trust me, you'll thank me. Now, who do-"

"Lucius…" a hesitant female voice interrupted them.

Mr. Malfoy suddenly looked up, resembling a deer in headlights. "Bellatrix, I'm-I'm sorry," he said, whining slightly. " You know that I can't really father Malfoy- he's such a rebellious boy. Narcissa and I were just talking about him yesterday-"

"Just get on with _it_, Luscius."

"Get on with what?" Harry gulped. He didn't like the sound of that.

"Oh, right," said the blonde, deepening his voice and creating lightening that periodically flashed behind him with a flick of his wand. "DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU AH HEA, HARRY POTTA?"

Harry hadn't given a thought to the sequence of events that had put him in this position. You just have to go with the flow when you are a 16-year-old constantly being attacked by the most powerful dark wizard in the world. He tried to recall how it had started. Something about a pastry…

He gasped, "Are you, are you…"

Lucius Malfoy sneered. "Yes, Potter. I _am_ Swedish. _I _put the pastry on your window. _I _lured you here. Mwa."

You'll find me in Sweden 

_Bottle full of milk_

_I'm in there baking pastries, I'm in there being blonde_

"Ssh…," whispered Harry, "I don't want them to know about you…yet."

In any other reasonable fanfiction, one of the two deatheaters, both who had their attention entirely focused on the boy, would have noticed him talking into his sweatshirt. Coincidentally, at the time Mr. Malfoy's lightening had begun to malfunction. Lucius was all for the dramatic effect it had on the scenario. Unfortunately, he could not create more lightening (for reasons relevant to the plot), so Bellatrix had to conjure a flashlight, then batteries. Mr. Malfoy was obviously reluctant and furious to use a muggle object. So then there was a huge argument about some other source of light being effective. And trying to get the batteries in…

In any case, _whew_. Harry was off the hook. He also had time to reason about how to save his life for the umpteenth time. Harry twisted his mouth while thinking that word. Umpteenth. Um teanth…um…umpa…bollocks.

_Running?…no. We Potters don't run. What shall I do! What recources do I have? No wand… A rapping book… innate screaming ablilities-that's it! I'll scream!_

Taking no regard for the fact that he was in a forest many miles away from anywhere, Harry screamed just as Lucius flipped on the flashlight under his chin, making ghost-like sounds. It took him a few moments to understand what was happening.

"Scream all you want, boy, no one's going to hear you," whispered Bellatrix nastily in his ear.

But Harry knew someone was going to hear him. Another one of those hero instincts. No hero dies before he faces his arch-enemy. Heroes are saved or find a way out from the traps they fall into.

And, sure enough, a moment later a storm of aurors appeared on the spot. Wheeeeeeeeeee…

It's a pity that death eaters are so easily recognized. Really, the black cloaks and evil faces….tsk, tsk. Really give them away. Honestly, they can do better. The aurors knew them to be evil in a second. Well, alright, two seconds. And a half. Can't forget the half.

Harry became lost as a rush of incantations was hurled at his two captors. He ignorantly squeezed himself between two aurors, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening.

He thrust his thin self into the open. There, he saw Lucius writhing on the ground in agony, sobbing and clutching at his long-elf like hair which was now…chestnut! Nevertheless, he seemed incapable of hurting anyone, so Harry switched his attention over to Bellatrix.

Amazingly, the woman was surrounded by aurors but was still blocking spells, and had managed to curse a few aurors when she spotted Harry amongst them, looking very dashing.

She immediately spun towards him, flipped her hair in a gallant, but stupid effort to look fierce, and screeched a curse, pointing her wand at Harry.

Harry began to scream (natural reflex) but he felt the force of the curse directly at his stomach, knocking him and the unlucky aurors standing behind him down.

He was prepared to die.

He thought.

Well…

Well, ok, he could die, just so long as he got to meet pooh bear in heaven.

If he could, perhaps, only _temporarily_ die…

Mmm…pooh bear…

What?

Oh right…he was (without doubt) _maybe_ prepared to die.

No aurors had had the time to heroically jump in front of him, though a few had managed to hold onto Bellatrix, having grabbed hold of her wand.

But Harry didn't die. For the forty-second (and a half) time in six years, he had escaped death.

No one bothered to ask why until a few hours later, when he was back at the ministry after having coffee and a few pastries (no danishes though, to Harry's relief).

"So, why didn't you die, Harry?" asked Tonks conversationally, looking rather goth with her black hair and lips. This was contradicted by the pink frilly teacup she was using to sip tea. If tea cups can be frilly. All in all, she looked rather strange.

"I dunno, I-"

"Wotcher Harry!" screamed Tonks, collapsing with laughter. Harry fell in surprise and bewilderment.

"Excuse me?" he squeaked.

"Oh, sorry, just realized I hadn't said my hello that makes no sense to you today, is all…" Tonks looked unnervingly happy.

Several aurors nodded in acknowledgement, "But of course!" They were very French.

"Aah… I see…in any case, the spell hit my stomach-" said Harry, feeling his stomach, trying to show off his impressive abdomen, "Wait! Is that? It can't be…my god! I thought I had lost it."

Harry pulled out his textbook, looking a little worse for the wear.

"Yo, homie, it was yours truly who saved your life, man," said the text.

Tonks looked confused, and for good reason." Wait, it was a _book_ that saved your life? And it talks? I don't get it."

"Me neither," said Remus, sitting nearby, nibbling furiously, if that is possible, on a bar of chocolate. He offered some to Harry, who politely refused-he no longer so sure about that chocolate; its contents, long term affect, and, most importantly, it's legality...

"Er…explain, please?" said Harry to the smug-looking book.

"Well, I was all chillin' having a bit of fun, if you know what I mean- when I felt something hit me, man, it hurt like a _motha_, but it bounced right off, of course, ya know what I mean? My funky-fresh manufacturer wanted to make me as fly as possible, you see, dawg? So they looked to muggle rappers as _inspiration_, man, eh, yo. And the first idea they had for my cover was a bullet-proof vest-like-thing, man, it's pimp, man, even though it makes me look kinda fat, man. But that had nothing to do with the wizarding world, anyway, ma, so they made this pimp wizard bullet-proof vest thing- a cover that won' let any so' offa bitch kill me, eh? It can only be worn on those who are so ghetto that the kings don't need no bullets, eh, get it, dawg, eh, haha…"

"Foshizzle my _nizzle_," said Harry in awe.

"Sure did, homie. And while I'm still hot off the rack I would talk to the youth out there-remember kids,

Harry Potter got the beat That make your booty go 

_(slap)_

End Flashback

HarryRingo sat back in his chair, feet on the table, nodding his head slowly.

Hermione paused thoughtfully. "Ya, no…words…come to mind _specifically_, though you did look hot there, Harry."

Ron turned to Hermione. "Sure, 'mione, but all I wanta know is how you make that slapping sound…"

HarryRingo smirked nastily. "If you want to know, I can show you…"

Ron looked panicked. "Ah, Harry, no, that's fine, it's okay, I wasn't serious…Harry. Harry!"

But it was too late. Harry bounded up onto the table amid piles of food, drawing all attention in the Great Hall to himself. He thus yelled, dancing along to the beat:

Take that, rewind it back 

_Harry Potter got the flow that make your booty go_

_**Slap**_

Harry stopped. The entirety of the Great Hall stared blankly. Ron's face was buried, agonized, into his hands. Hermione was slowly massaging her temples. Harry giggled nervously into the silence. "Er…sorry…that's gotten kind of monotonous..."

Peace out, Hogtown! 


	11. I Hate SquirtGuns

**Disclaimer: Hehehehehehe, me no own anything...hehehehehe...**

**Dear, dear readers! We're sooooo sorry we haven't written in so long! If it makes you feel any better, chapter 12 is already written! **

**Anyways, between homework and volleyball and track and squerills...u know how it is, there's just not much time for life. It's been so great writing Harry and friends again! We heart them!**

**Blah...not much else to say. We're sorry! We may/may not update soon-but it will be in the next month!**

* * *

CHAPTER 11 

HarryRingo sat in the library, looking a bit on the downside. "I can't believe Snape gave us so much homework on the first day back! It's bloody murder!"

"I know! And with Quidditch starting soon…" Ron trailed off after seeing the look on HarryRingo's face. The poor, sad little hero still didn't know if he could play Quidditch.

Hermione, on the other hand, seemed to have much more free time than the two idiot delinquents. Why? Who would know? Maybe it was because she actually concentrated on her work, or maybe it was because her hair magically absorbed her class-work, or maybe some special conscious reason we don't hear about until chapter 58 and a half. Who knows? And how is it relevant to the story?

"I've been thinking, Harry…" said Hermione.

"Well, that's new," mumbled Ron, rolling his eyes, which it actually wasn't, and he was just being stupid.

"Ahem," Hermione ignored Ron," I've been thinking, Harry, you have so much publicity, Harry," continued Hermione, pausing to pose for one of the paparazzi who had just poked out from behind a nearby bookcase," with you being the boy-who-lived and recently incarnated Beatle…you should give back to the community. And S.P.E.W. could use a celebrity backing it up," said she solemnly.

Harry looked thoughtful. As thoughtful as a self-absorbed teen can get. Without thinking about acne or girls or chainmail.

Ron was disgusted. "Harry, you're not going to support _spew_, are you? Of all the stupid things…"

Harry looked confused. "Wh-what? I was thinking about chainmail…"

Hermione sighed patiently and repeated her suggestion.

Harry nodded. "Hm…I agree with you, Hermione. I've been meaning _chainmail _to distort my public _chainmail _image into that of a caring, loving, miss-understood _chainmail _celebrity instead of the angst-ridden teenager I really _chainmail_ have _chainmail _been for a long _chainmail _time _chainmail _now." Harry's eye twitched.

The other two looked at him oddly.

He smiled, "But let's call together a DA _chainmail _meeting though; we'll want to know the Public's _chainmail _opinion."

That said, he put on a pair of sunglasses (as to confuse the media) and stalked spastically out of the library (the Potters don't strut), leaving Hermione and Ron alone. He twitched every now and then.

A minute of awkward silence ensued, in which Hermione pretended to be very intent on finishing some of her knitting, and Ron just sat there, as he often does, and looked stupid. He felt out of place(and stupid) and pretended to be occupied(and not stupid, which was difficult, because he was stupid). Finally he couldn't take it any longer.

"I can't take it any longer!" he shouted. "Hermione, there's been something I've been meaning to tell you for a long time." He fumbled on his words. "I, well, I didn't want to tell you in front of Harry. I thought it might be a bit embarrassing to me…to us...to you…to…him…them…me?" He grimaced and paused, attempting to remember last year's damned grammar lessons.

"Yes, Ron?" said Hermione tentatively, gazing romantically into his green/blue eyes (what color are they?) and puckering her lips ever so slightly.

"I've been sure about it since the beginning of last summer. I wasn't sure before…I mean, I kind of knew. Maybe I was just avoiding the fact. But after leaving you that summer, I couldn't pretend any longer. I just can't keep this kind of feeling inside."

Hermione smiled, "I think I've known all along."

Ron looked a bit disgruntled. "Oh. Oh, ok. Good. Um, 'mione?"

"_Yes_, Ron?" Hermione was positively auditioning for a place as a Victoria's Secret model.

"Erm…will you?"

"_Oui_, Ronalde?"

"Will _you_?"

"Yes, Yolanda…I mean, Ronniekins?"

Ron glanced about nervously, his face red, then hissed, "Will you give me a new DA coin? I lost mine at King's Cross, and it looks like I'll be needing a new one."

"I DO!"

The awkward teenager jumped and then looked around nervously, as several people were staring at the bushy-haired girl who had just apparently attacked him, leaping from her seat and enclosing him in a huge bear embrace. And stayed there. And stayed there. And stayed. The people seemed just as startled at this PDA as he was.

Ron struggled to breathe. "Um…so, can I have it, then?"

"Have what?" said Hermione dreamily, sounding much like Luna. She gasped excitedly. "Ooo…have _it_?"

Ron looked mildly alarmed. "Erm…The DA coin. Can I have the DA coin?" He struggled against her vice-like grip. "Hermione, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

Puzzled and then angered by this terrifically complete and utter failure at romance, Hermione let go of Ron, slapped him, and took a gold coin out of her bag, throwing it at him. It hit him in the forehead, giving him a temporary scar in the shape of a yellow submarine. She grabbed her books and left the table, leaving behind a thoroughly bewildered Ron.

A few passing students noticed Ron's temporary scar and gasped. "Look! HarryRingo dyed his hair and got his face smashed in! I WANT AN AUTOGRAPH!"

More students stopped, then began screaming as well, rushing down onto the terrified HarryRingo impersonator.

Hermione stopped a few feet later, at the large archway that led into the main hall. She turned around, and Ron-who-was-not-HarryRingo noticed a few dramatic tears lingering on her face, but couldn't hear them in her voice when she shouted to him over the screaming mass of HarryRingo fans, which is an amazing feat. She must have had lessons from Harry. "I like _Harry_, Ron, and he likes _me_! And he's _much_ more handsome then _you_!" She turned, flipping her abundance of hair, and stalked out of the Great Hall. It may be advantageous at this time to mention that Hermione's stalking is not at all like HarryRingo's stalking, because HarryRingo is very strange and his style of walking, and, indeed, going about anywhere, is interestingly unique and should be given its very own name and home somewhere safely on a deserted island far, far away. As a matter of fact, the authors may have already been beaten to the deed. The term is generally known as _insane_.

However, it may _not_ be particularly advantageous at this time to mention that Harry was at that moment more than a little drunk and snogging a fifth year in the astronomy tower while visions of chainmail floated through his head…but let's not put Hermione in a worse state. God knows what might happen.

* * *

Millions of miles (or was it a few inches?) away, Tom Riddle was having his own girl problems. Well…they were not so much _problems_ as…hurricanes… 

"NO!" Bellatrix shrieked. She hurled her goth hairbrush at the supreme Dark Lord Voldemort, who at that very moment was frantically attempting to burrow a hole in the solidly ignorant wall underneath a darkly ornate table. The hairbrush hit him firmly on his terrified derriere, and he squeaked shrilly.

"NO, DAMN YOU!" Bellatrix screamed. "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU! YOU DON'T OWN ME, RIDDLE! I'M NOT JUST ONE OF YOUR MANY TOYS! DON'T YOU SAY I CAN'T GO WITH OTHER BOYS!" Veins stood out on her neck and spit flew from her mouth.

Harry Potter's arch-nemesis huddled under the table, shivering with terror. He had tortured and killed hundreds, ordered the deaths of a thousand more, established his reputation as a legendary figure of dark lore that would linger for all of eternity, but when it came to hormonal females, he was a kid with a squirt gun. A terrified kid with a squirt gun. A terrified, scared-shitless kid with a suddenly wimpy-looking and stomach-churningly diminutive, _plastic_ squirt gun. Made in China. With a crack in the side. That kinda sputtered weakly even though you squeezed the damn cheap trigger till you were buff enough to pass as a steroid addict. Damn. Where was I?

Voldemort flinched painfully as Bellatrix threw her head back and let out a truly terrifying howl of anger. The noise seemed to pierce his skull like a red-hot poker, and he clamped his trembling hands to his ears, half-expecting his fingers to meet blood. He rolled over from his protective fetal position, breathing hard, his eyes wide. "Belly, honey, I didn't mean to suggest-"

Bellatrix's facial complexion turned from a lovely, hearty cherry-red, to a dark and sultry rose-crimson. "DIDN'T MEAN? _DIDN'T MEAN?_ WHY, YOU _BASTARD_! YOU DON'T OWN ME! DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO SAY! AND WHEN I GO OUT WITH YOU, DON'T YOU _DARE_ PUT ME ON DISPLAY! CUZ YOU _DON'T_ OWN ME, RIDDLE, WHATEVER THE _BLOODY_ HELL YOU THINK YOU CAN ACHIEVE SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU'RE THE MOST TERRIFYINGLY POWERFUL LORD OF DARKNESS EVER TO TERRORIZE THE WORLD OF MAGIC! I DON'T CARE IF LUCIUS IS MARRIED! HE IS MINE! EVEN HE ADMITS IT! IF YOU WANT A GIRLFRIEND, GO SNOG…GO…GO SNOG…" Bellatrix paused, searching for something truly scathing, and then smiled wickedly. "GO SNOG _GRANGER_."

Moldie Voldie burst into tears.


	12. In Which Not Enough Happens For Some

**Disclaimer: We don't own Harry Potter. Face it folks. We know we write as well as J.K. Rowling, but that doesn't mean we are multyi-trulti-millionares like her!**

Ooooooooookay! So, chapter 12(a ong chappie)! In which not enuf happens to entertain Charletto! (She didn't like it very much...u see, she wrote the first part, and I, Emmy, finished it off. Then she added some at the end, then I added some.) Well, anyways. Now that it is SUMMER! Oh, glorious SUMMER, we will be writing and posting a lot more. I am sad/happy to say that Cocabella is and will be 2,000 miles away in a remote country in South America at the moment, and will be there for two months. You see, I am sad for us(poor Charletto and I), and happy for her. -Hehehe, I'm rereading this before I post it, andI noticed my grammar is already failing! YAY, summmer!-

Sorry we haven't posted for so long, but because of graduation...I am deeply sad to say that the 3sadlostogslightlymadsouls are all going to different high schools next year!

Charletto: a preppy, posh, peppy boarding school on the east coast of transylvania vith all ze vampires! Mwahaha...or on the east coast of the u.s.(stalkers, beware!)

Cocabella: Our current school's feeder school. Very nice Catholic school.

Emmy: ME! the specialest one who wishes she were at Hogwarts! Well, that's it-there really is a school for magical ppl! I'll post it here for an hour or so-becuz i dont want the world of magic to know i let the magicless-ppl know- but it is called Sparrowswood School for girls and boys! I'm going there next year! It's in northern Oregon! Yep! Or maybe I'm going to a different Catholic school from Cocabella where I live...or maybe NOT! Maybe I'm going to the uber-cool, so special, priceless, A-list school for witches and wizards of the adolescence!

And, so, here is Chapter 12-I'll leave the title Charletto wanted at the top of the story...

**And when (not if :( -obey the unibrow smiley or die!) you review, please tell us whether you like pointless, yet wonderful random chapters(where random objects and happenings appear at all times), or chapters with random occurences-based on one random event.**

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CHAPTER 12: The Chapter in which not much happens!

Ron stumbled slowly back to the Gryffindor common room, rubbing his newly scarred forehead and wincing. He was walking with a limp, his clothes were torn, and someone had pasted a hastily scribbled "SNOG ME" parchment to the back of his worn maroon sweater; it had taken him the better part of an hour to escape from the mob of rabid HarryRingo fans. Under the impression that "HarryRingo's" face had been smashed in, the hysterical fans tried to fix it, and Ron was now silently cursing two black eyes and a mean nosebleed. He limped slowly up the corridor and through the portrait portal, the fat lady shooting him a mistrustful look and muttering about hooligans brawling on campus.

Behind him, Malfoy leaned out from around a corner, drooling. "Mmmm, my _gawd_, Goyle, did you _see_ him?"

Goyle leaned out as well. "Ehhh…"

Malfoy's face was flushed. "He was _so hot_! I didn't know Weasleys could _look_ so _fine_! I wonder if he did something new with his hair….and that eye make-up he had on was _turning me on_!"

"Ehhhh," said Goyle.

"Omigod…" Malfoy played with his hair and stared off thoughfully. "I wonder if Severus has seen him yet…_Omigod_!" He darted off down the corridor, black robes swirling behind.

"Ehhhhhh…" Goyle stood absent-mindedly for a moment, before spotting a shiny hairclip that Malfoy had dropped as he ran, and shuffled off in that direction.

The Fat lady leaned back in her painted chair, wondering what by the Merlin's beard that was all about. She'd seen teenage girls stalking boys before, and vice-versa, but this…this was new. Well, not that new, she thought as she fiddled absently with her crocheted handkerchief, she'd seen boys and girls going after the same sex before, sure, but they'd always been very modest about it, very nervous…she'd given counseling to many a trembling and insecure teen just coming to terms with their sexual orientation. But this boy had been so…so…_enthusiastic_…

……………………………….

Ron limped into the common room, muttering, his nose sending drops of blood dropping down to the already crimson carpet. He was just painfully mounting the stairs to the dormitories as an unsteady voice behind him spoke up.

"Rrrrrrrooonnnnburp!" Harry was reclining lazily on two soft armchairs pulled up together, and, as Ron whirled around in surprise, unsteadily waved a large mug of some foul-smelling substance like some type of twisted trophy. "Whhhat'rre yew dooooin' a-allll th'wayyy uppp hurr belch Wh- whut happenened to yer ferheaad?" Harry screwed his face up in confusion, trying to see clearly through beer goggles and dim fire-light.

Ron stared.

"Weeelll…I'av bean haiven' ay grrrrrrrrreat hiccup time hurr….You shuld've seen 'er Rooonnnn…that gurl…." Harry trailed off, glassy-eyed.

Ron stared.

Harry hiccupped.

Ron rubbed his stubbly chin. He thought of what to do. He could wash off his face, change into another sweater, and sleep. This was normal. That is what any normal person would do. But Ron wasn't normal. He was a beaten-up redhead with a smashed-in face, a scar in resemblance of a submarine, a bit of a girl-problemchuckle, chuckle ,and a laugh that sounded like a frog. But even above all this, he was a huge nerd with absolutely NO acne! What a joke… Normal? Never. So Ron decided to do what non-normal, non-cool, non-famous and drop-dead handsome people do. He put his own comfort behind that of his friend.

He sighed, and smiled at his best friend. Harry returned the gesture, blowing spit-bubbles in Ron's direction.

"Let me help you up to your room, there, buddy," whispered Ron, trying to keep Harry's little escapade a secret. Or, more likely, he wanted to keep the rest of Gryffindor from finding out about his state of appearance. He could feel the blood and snot from his nose all over his face and knew it probably wasn't a pretty sight. But it did taste good. He walked a step towards Harry, and started to lift his arm over his shoulder.

Then, with so much importance and in such an implausible manner that it required an entirely new paragraph, a voice stopped him!

A very feminine, very sultry voice. In Ron's opinion at least. Three more voices joined it. They were singing. Oh, the singing. What lovely singing. He almost dropped Harry, and had a sudden urge to run to those voices.

The serenading voices became louder, and Ron's heart rang with pleasure as he realized (being the uber-smart person he is) that that meant they were coming closer. No longer caring about how he looked, he dropped the still-drunk Harry and made a last effort to look sexy before they came. In Ron's hopeless case, this meant running a bloody hand through his hair.

He sat down and gasped as the owners of the voices entered the common-room.

There were four girls in matching, but different-colored dresses. Ron licked his lips as he looked at them. They were standing in a line; the two on the outside blonde. The two in the center were both brunettes, one with very thick curly brown hair. She had a pleasant face and deep brown eyes. The other had black, straight, and very shiny-to the extent that it looked almost greasy- hair. Ron didn't care for these two. Sure, they were dancing rather nicely. And the one with the black hair (who wore a blood-red dress) had very nice legs. Ron's eyes were focused on one of the blondes. The one the left was making very suggestive movements with his…I mean her, well…Ron was enticed in any case. She wore a Black Halter dress, and she wore a pendant in the form of a snake with emerald eyes in her hair. Her hair was platinum, and pulled back into a long pony-tail.

Ron started walking towards her without noticing. He ran another hand through his hair. As he stared at her he mumbled something under his breath.

_Hey Shorty. It's my birthday….You'll find me in the club…I'm in there…._

Ron was in a trance. He didn't notice Harry, who appeared to be happily having seizures on the floor. He didn't see the other blonde, though still dancing, stare off into the corner of the room and continue staring there in a dream-like state. He didn't see the dancer with black hair trying to catch his attention with some racy moves. He only had eyes for her.

But Ron wasn't totally mesmerized. He was still a bit insecure. His mind twisted into dreams of them together. He saw them in all kinds of places, doing all kinds of things. But he quite honestly thought he was dreaming when she started walking towards him. There was no way that girl was interested in _him_. He gave her a grin, which she returned with a small smile and even more dancing, now only a foot from where he stood.

As the inches between them drew to a close, his heart beat quicker then it ever had before. That whole Hermione and coin thing had been bit of a low-point in the day. Things were about to get better.

He closed his eyes as he felt her breath on his neck. He made a reach for her. He grunted as he stumbled. Where was she? Where he knew she must have been a second before…there was only air now. Ron's violence-addled brain mentally screwed up its forehead in thought. Maybe it had only been a dream.

_Damn. Well, we can't linger on lusty hopes, can we, Ron? I guess we should help Harry._

He sighed one last time and turned around. He fell back on the ground. The four girls weren't a dream. But they were all clustered around Harry. And Harry, even in his equally addled state of mind, seemed to be enjoying it.

Ron just stared in shock, that is- until the blonde girl he had been so excited about stroked Harry's cheek and climbed into his lap. All of the sudden, his world came crashing down. This was the worst day of his day! Of his life, even! He didn't care what people thought about his face anymore! He burst up into tears, and leaving puddles behind him, ran up the stairs into his dorm.

The girl with the curly brown hair burst out laughing. She fell over backward with mirth. "That was great! That was absobloodylutely fantastic! I think I'm going to die." She rolled in circles on the floor, clutching her stomach.

The other three were equally amused.

The brown-haired girl was the only one capable of talking. "Harry, though, you almost ruined it! You were practically having seizures! And Luna, you were staring off into the corner of the room for close to five minutes! It was lucky I found that spell to make us such seductive dancers, or else I think you might have just wandered off. And Severus, did you do something to your legs? Shave, wax, _tell_ me! They look great!"

She gestured in the blonde in the black halter's direction, "Ron seemed especially interested in _you_."

The girl looked delighted. She..or was it a he, pulled off his wig. "Do you really think so?" He giggled.

"Yea, he really went for you Malfoy. But that last part? When you climbed in my lap? You were just joking around right? I mean, that was a bit creepy. And perverted. I really…" said Harry, looking around awkwardly.

Draco was still fantasizing about Herm's comment. He jerked up his head, "Oh, sure, Harry, sure. _Of course_ it was all a joke." He winked at Severus.

They just lay rolling around the floor for a few minutes, laughing. Hermione finally sat up.

"Oh, I love making Ron cry! You guys on for doing it again next week?"

Everyone, especially Draco and Severus("he looks so cute when he's crying!) nodded.

"Luna? You up for it?" asked Hermione, curious.

Luna was staring off into space.

"Mmmm…snigglevusses."

Hermione stared distractedly for a moment. "Mm…yes, well. That's all good then." She got up off the floor with a pert sigh. "Well, I suppose we should all get back to our dormitories…"

Harry looked up. "Hang on, we're forgetting a few people."

"Mm?" Hermione was pulling on her sweater.

Harry pointed out of the computer screen. "What about the authors? I'm sure they'd have a wonderful time screwing around with Ron's mind…Cocabella can do costumes, Emmy can do dance moves, and Charletto can be drunk with me!"

The 3sadlostogslightlymadsouls blushed and smiled with pleasure. "Wow, that's the first time we've had our own story characters invite us to join in a fanfiction…thanks, guys!"

"You're very welcome."

Charletto was confused. "Wait a moment. What happened to all that lovely stuff about Harry being obsessed with chainmail and twitching and snogging a fifth year while drunk in the astronomy tower? I thought that was funny…"

Harry smiled. "Oh, well, you see, right now we're taking an objective outlook to the story, explaining things to the readers and all that, you know, all this about the fictional characters actually having a conversation with the authors, so we thought-"

"You mean _we_ thought…" interrupted Charletto.

"No, _we_ thought, as in the characters; we aren't really fictional, you know..."

Charletto frowned. cool and creepy Twilight Zone music

"Anyway," Harry continued, "_we_ thought that I might actually be coherent for the objective part of the fanfiction, so we could continue this cool joke thing on Ron later, and then resume insanity once the audience had been properly informed."

Charletto smiled hopefully. "Oh, so soon you'll be drunk again?"

Harry smiled reassuringly. "As soon as we work out who will help in orchestrating the joke, and I resume my fictional personality, yes."

Charletto bounced with pleasure.

Cocabella leaned over to Emmy and whispered something in her ear.

Emmy frowned, "Yea…I know. Charletto always adds us into the story after I send her a rough draft she doesn't like. And, it's not just that! She gets a whole long conversation with the dashing, moody lead character of the story, and all we get is dance moves and costumes… And it's a parody! It _is_ random, don't you think, readers? This is our first real parody chapter (till the end), and all she can say is 'I want rabid squirrels with hankerings for pop tarts.' We just had Harry go after a pastry a few chapters ago. Isn't that enough? And I, Emmy, have to admit that Cocabella and I feel kind of left out in talking. I mean, Cocabella gets one gesture and I get this. Oh wait… I think I do have another line coming up…let's marvel at how important _this_ one is."

Charletto's confused frown deepened. "Hey, it was _orange_ squirrels with hankerings for _raspberry_ tarts…honestly, Emmy, you ought to-" Cocabella hit her round the back of the head.

Hermione sighed. "Well now that that's done with, let's all get back to our dormitories before McGonagall catches us. You coming, Harry?"

"Uh-wha?" Harry swayed dangerously.

"Good god…"

Charletto crowed happily, and Emmy hit her round the back of the head.

"See! That was me in all my maternal-like, mature glory!" she said, and with that, strutted out of the room to be chased after by _orange_ rabid squirrels with hankerings for pop tarts. _(RASPBERRY!)_


	13. Chapter 13 is Prettyful!

**Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own Harry Potter. No, _really._ We don't. Now stop _that._ We don't own Harry Potter! Fine, if I can't convince you, maybeour ferocious three-headed dog will...**

Now, summer! As you all know, during summer the mind enters a rather dream-like lethargic state. Some people(such as the primary author of this coming tale) find it hard to revive their minds, so kind of just use them as they are. This often results in disaster, but, even more often it causes supreme and unreasonable confusion for the reader. So, quite likely, if your mindis not in the ugly(yet kind of cool) state that mine was(and most probably still is) in, this will make absolutely no sense to you. You know, even if your mind is completely drained of all reason like mine, you probably still won't understand it. I sure know I don't.

But, it was a fun chapter to write! And any hint that what I meant to be a sub-reality(the beginning scene) is not reality was made by one of the other sadlostogslightlymadsouls, Charletto. She seemed to find a way to hold on to her mind. Don't know how... crazy person, really.

Now, on with the show! We hope you enjoy reading, and please review with all your flowery chapter 13 love and your evil flaming hate-mail! We love you!

* * *

CHAPTER 13 is ohsoveryprettyful!

"Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirteen! Thirteeeeeeen! OH may, june, and spring! It is Chapter Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!" Hermione smiled and giggled uncontrollably as she fell to the ground with several of her very normal, not strange, beautiful female classmates.

"Oh, girls! Now isn't this fun? I just love frilly pastel dresses and maypoles, don't you?" Hermione smiled a smile of pure contentment, and began braiding her pink unicorn's hair. The other girls did likewise each with their own pretty unicorn. Cho with her sparkly orange one, Ginny with her lovely yellow one, Luna with her mysterious blue one, Parvati with her shiny purpley one, Pansy with her ugly and hideous black one, and Minerva with her spunky rainbow one. Beatrix was crying in a corner. She got an ugly thestral. Not that she could see the thestral. But she could see the ugliness. Or maybe she could see the thestral. But the thestral was not very fuzzy, was he? Or she? Was it a she? But, OH! Look at all the pretty colors yonder, among the pretty lasses!

OH! The sunshine, the beautiful sunshine! For it was a sunny day in the lovely land of chapter thirteen! The grass was green and the sky was blue! The lake was blue! Like the sky, but darker! And the castle had been painted bubble-gum pink and purple for the occasion! The forbidden forest had even blossomed, warming the sky and greeting it, flaunting all its beauty! The pixies and the spiders were jumping about! Even Aragon had gotten his nails done! For today was a beautiful day!

OH! The creatures, the clever, stubborn, lovely creatures! The nifflers were dressed in gold, marching in a line. Their noses wobbled up and down, just to keep the time! The house elves did cartweels, dancing on the scene. They sang and laughed and rolled and played and sang a pretty song! The centaurs cantered, dressed in bohemian attire! Their waltzes left many a thing for the wee humans to aspire! The merpeople jumped above the lake and bathed on rocks in the sun. The sun sparkled off their lustrous scales in the day of chapter thirteen! Only on this date in time had they become so beautiful, so kind!

…………………

OH! Chapter thirteen! What a gorgeous day and scene! Now, let us advert our attention to high tower in the Scottish tower where a boy of green eyes to match the clover lay in a deep slumber.

Who is that who sneaks up on the boy, as he lies a-snoring? That head of flaming red, who could it belong to? What is he doing, rolling on the ground? Pretending to be secretive, is he?

He pounces the boy with the messy black hair, who pulls out a wand and strikes- the moment before the boy with the disfigured face lands.

"Goblet of Fire Videos! Love for star of Goblet of Fire! Fanfiction! E-mail, HP Party! Wait…these aren't mind-blowing spells! Why must the damn author always get side-tracked when looking up something online! And why is she so obsessed with my real-life actor counter-part?"

Of course, in the land of Chapter Thirteen, all is well. Haha, like that And Ron paused in mid-air in his attack while the hero of our story contemplated the above topics. And the authors contemplated the sudden change of tense. Oh well. It was Chapter Thirteen, after all.

"And now, since the author is too lazy to look up the tickling spell I will call on the reserves of her-I mean-my memory….RICTUSEMPRA!"

Ron fell down from where he was levitating and clutched his stomach, rolling all over the end of Harry's bed with a thud. "Haaaarry! Make it stop, you evil, plotting git!"

Harry chuckled and muttered the reverse of the spell.

"You didn't tell me you weren't asleep. I was trying to scare you. It's not fair."

"Ron," said Harry with a laugh, " I was _pretending _to be asleep. It wouldn't have made much sense to be like, 'Ron, I'm only pretending to be asleep!' Dolt."

"Mmhmm…still not fair," mumbled Ron, his back to Harry in mock hurt.

Harry (who was not Ringo, in the land of perfectness) threw a pillow at Ron's back, "Of course not. Never is, is it?"

Ron turned around grinning. "Nope."

Harry sighed happily. Ron turned back around, and both looked around the room aimlessly, the remains of their happily idiotic smiles still on their faces. After a moment Harry looked at Ron.

"Hey Ron," he said. Ron turned.

"Yeah?"

"I've got a secret to tell you," Harry said seriously.

"You're not putting me on?" said Ron.

"No." Harry's face was absolutely serious. "I need to tell absolutely no one, and I mean that, I've been waiting for a moment alone to say this to you."

Ron leaned in, genuinely concerned. "What is it, mate?"

Harry paused, then grinned, whipping out his wand. "_Avada Kedavra!"_

The spell blew Ron clean across the room. He sat up against the far wall. "Ooohhhh, Harry, you sneaky, git, you got me," he called jovially. "You killed me, you nasty bastard, haha…" Which Harry had. But in the world of Chapter Thirteen, it was all fun and games. As always.

Ron climbed to his feet. "_Iiiii'm gonna get ya! Iiiiiiii'm gonna get ya!"_

This was followed by a minute of two of hurling random, potentially harmful spells (well, they were actually harmful-but not to Harry or Ron-the other dorm-members sleep was a bit disturbed…but, it was Chapter Thirteen Day! And they smiled happily to be awoken, and joined in the fun) and other hard, pointy objects around the dorm.

…………………….

Who is that walking up to the stairs to the boys' dorm? The one in the frilly dress with the long, curly, brown hair? The lass with the flowers in hair, the daisies encircling her round, peaceful face? Who is that girl who quietly opens the door to the boys' dorm before going in, shaking her head with a small smile as she sees the boys rough-housing, flying around on brooms, and levitating each other? Who is it that makes all the boys drop to the ground upon entrance? What kind of human could possess such serenity?

"Hermione!" shouts Ron, dropping everything and running to her. She giggles as he picks her up and twirls her around. The boys drop their pies and squirrels switchblades as Hermione's dainty feet again touch the ground. Their mouths are still sewn shut as they watch Ron grab her hand and kiss each of her eight fingers, just noticing the sparklyshinyHUGE diamond on her finger.

"Ron- old friend-would you like to explain something?" asked Harry, in a state of bewilderment.

Ron was too absorbed, staring at his dear Hermione's deep brown eyes to reply. Hermione answered for him. "Harry! We're engaged! And I'm expecting my second child

"Wha-wha-wha-who-errrrr-nananananananananananananananananananananan-NI!" returned the-boy-who-lived.

"Yes, Harry! A girl! We're going to name her She-Who-Has-Red-Afro-and-Plays-With-Fawns!"

"Huminah, huminah, huminah, huminah….gulp se-second child?"

"Oh, yes, dear, young Harry…come on in, Dumblie, meet your father's best-friend." Why does she motion towards the door so? Who is waiting behind it?

The door opens. Uplifting and complicated springy music plays.

Harry smiles within as the cameras fix upon his baffled face.

_Score!_

Harry faints (for dramatic effect) as he sees the tall figure that enters. Of course, in chapter thirteen-land, he awakes a moment after, before he even hits the ground.

"Dumbly-dumple-bumble-dumdumdum-Dumbledore is your first child? Wha- how does that even work?"

Ron smiled a sweet, understanding smile at his fiancé. She nodded. It was time.

Ron hooked Harry's arm in his own and walked him over to his trunk, where they both sat down. "Harry, we have a lot to tell you. Remember first year? The sorceror's stone? Well…"

……………….

"And that, my friend, is how babies are made."

Harry nodded slowly, in fascination. He was still making the strange motions demonstrated to him by Ron with his hand. Then he shook his head very fast. "Wait-holy shinokies- we really got off topic there. So, how is Dumbledore your son?"

"Harry, Harry, Harry! Ron explained this to you already! We used the sorceror's stone to stay alive longer then Dumbles. Didn't we, little one?" Hermione said to Albus as she stroked his bald head. Dumbledore nodded and grinned a toothless grin, his legs spread out wide, playing with letter blocks.

"But- but- but that doesn't even make any _sense_! Dumbledore was here long before you two even met! You're lunatics!" Harry stood up backing away from the happy couple and their son. "You're damned crazy! All of you!"

"Harry," welcomed Hermione, standing up, an earnest expression on her blissful face, "Love is crazy. The land we live in is crazy. Crazy with happiness. Today is a day for love."

For no explainable reason, and rather pointlessly, really, Harry was suddenly enlightened. His face got all muffled and then confused and then happy and junk. He understood the meaning. He was happy! He was passionate for life.

He ran and hugged Hermione, Ron, and Dumbledore in a great bear-hug. "Thank you. Thank you for everything." Blah, blah, emotion, ramble ramble….

He ran out the door of the dorm all the way downstairs to the entrance hall. Light blinded him for a moment as he flung open the stone doors. "I am ready," he whispered, "ready for life."

What he saw astounded him. The beauty of the world struck him for the first time. The girls with their unicorns, the trees, the lake. All was clear.

Harry ran out into the world.

……………..

And woke up.

He looked around the darkened dormitory, observing his sleeping comrades. Hedwig was beside him in his cage. Ron was snoring softly. He tried to remember his dream. It had been very strange, that was for sure. Something about Danish pastries, Ringo Starr, a strange hobo, something about…being in a computer?...and…and…and three very odd teenage girls…he thought they might be American, or was it Canadian…maybe…_Norwegian_? He couldn't remember. Just as well, he thought, because something deep inside told him it was a very strange dream indeed. He chuckled darkly. Damn, no startling revelations from good old Tom Riddle tonight, he thought.

Harry shook his head dismissively, and then lay back down and turned on his side, drawing the blankets up around him once again. It looked as though it were very early in the morning and if he remembered correctly, he had Quidditch practice very early that day, before daybreak, so he supposed he ought to get some more sleep, judging by the pasty and heavy feel of his eyelids…maybe he could tell Ron about the dream in the morning…get some sleep…sleep…slee…

………………………………………………………………….

And continued running out into the world.

……………………………………………………………….

Chapter thirteen is truly a place for love. Madame Maxime and Hagrid make out behind the castle, and give each other backrubs with fallen logs.

A rather disgusting, zombie-like, Cedric Diggory threw dirt everywhere as he thrust himself out of the ground. Upon seeing him, Cho abandons her unicorn with a squeal of joy and jumps into his arms. Which fall off. She doesn't care though, because she's stupid and depressed and junk. And, basically, I don't like her. But I'm not evil- so she in the land of chapter thirteen she runs off into moo-moo land with her zombie-lover and have lots of zombie-love and make lots of zombie babies. It's thirty years of happiness and bliss and dunciness and no-crying until she dies suddenly and tragically. What can I say? Every author has his or her creative rights.

McGonagall and Professor Flitwick come into the open with the affair they had been having for their past 48 years at Hogwarts. They are very happy and lilies and pansies and daisies are thrown at them as they don their long-hidden hippie costumes. They fly to Woodstock on magic carpets made from save-the-whales posters.

Pansy and Malfoy turn goth and go crazy spray-painting the beautifully pink and purple school. They eat goth candy and say goth things and change their names to Morgue and Dothell respectively. Malfoy buys some mascara, and applys. He spraypaints his hair black. For reasons sane people can't fathom, some fan-girls find him even hotter and chase after him. Pansy grabs a bloody broomstick, though, and rescues him. They fly off to Dublin and live happy, drunk lives as bartenders. Only in the land of chapter thirteen.

Voldemort saunters into the area and stands stunned at his dear Bellatrix's beauty. Bellatrix calls him over, and with new resolution, pledges to be faithful to him and only him. She asks him to climb onto her thestral (which was-unbeknownst to her- really an invisible, fuzzy unicorn). Of course, since unicorns can only be touched by fair maidens, the minute Voldemort lays a finger on it, it stabs him with its horn through the heart. Voldie had also drank the blood of the unicorn's cousin's sister's book-club friend. . Voldemort collapses into a bloody heap on the floor, dead. That's karma for you.

Harry, happily skipping and frolicking innocently a few feet away from the scene, feels a sharp pang in his scar, stops, and turns around. "HEY! I was supposed to do that! Kill Voldemort and all…" Suddenly he feels a soft hand grab his neck and turn him around.

"No, Harry, you're supposed to do _this._" Ginny grabbed him and kissed him for a very, very, very, long time. Aaaaaah….bliss.

Bellatrix stares at VoldMold for a minute and shrugs. She runs over to Severus and they run off into the castle. Stupid Bellatrix. But, then, Severus was looking particularly handsome today. As do all people in the land of chapter thirteen.

Somewhere far away, behind an ominous black cloth in the deepest corridors of the Ministry of Magic, a man supposed to be dead tries desperately and fruitlessly to get into this happy land. "THIS SHIT IS BANANAS! B-A-N-A-N-A-S!"


	14. Introducing Bobo & Probability of Plot!

**Disclaimer**: Sure, we own Harry Potter.Sure, we are making millions daily from our new novel, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Sure, we're insane and delusional... But what's there to argue?

Okay, so you're probably suprised that this chapter is coming out. You probably thought we had discontinued the entire fic. But, no! Chronicles will always go on, no matter the large lapses of time between chapter publication!

Now, I know you probably want to read, strangle us, or find out what the hell this fic's all about right now...but let me pile you with excuses first.

Emmy: has been away for 20 days out of the past month...away from her darling computer...tear..and had to take a break after hbp came out...after she finished writing it...right...and emailed this to the other 2/3 of the writing ppl a full month ago, with instructions to update it...but she really isnt that angry...

Cocabella: just got back from 2 months in S. america...giver her a break-even though she had plenty of time to be writng fics...she has written a bit of a new one...an entirely different area...not a book(those are all the hints im giving ya!) that you can look foward to being posted sometime soon.

Charletto: has had various problems(as usual...jk, charletto), is preparing to transverse 3,000 miles to go to a boarding school this coming september, and has been busy with her other fanfic-which she is the main writer of. So now, hopefully, we'll all be able to take charge of one fic at least during the school year.

I, Emmy, will stick with my baby, chronicles.

Other wacko person, Charletto, will write the prune fic.

Yet another person who needs help, Cocabella, will write her new fic(i hope).

And we all inspire, influence, co-write, correct, add, or stare confusedly at eachother's fics. And because of that, we are the 3, not 1, sadlostogslightlymadsouls. And now, so you can stop reading this and get to the point, I will let you go. Enjoy. And review! Charletto has voiced the opinion that she thinks this is one of the best chapters yet. We'll hope you agree!

* * *

Harry woke up with a start, sitting up in his bed. Both hands covered his cherry-lipped prettyful mouth as he made every effort not to scream. Usually, he would have gladly done so, waking up his Gryffindor roommates . Harry was an awful cynic, and he had always had the suspicion that people around him slept to make themselves feel better, not to make him feel better. That was simply not fair. And besides, it pleased him to lie in bed, panting and writhing in pretend agony until his four roommates crowded around. Unfortunately, (in Harry's mind-icky place, but kind of cool because he's just a coolio-you person), he hadn't had many really exciting dreams since he saw Mr.Weasley bitten by a snake. Only Neville stood by Harry's bed and listened to the torment Harry had been in when he saw Pooh-bear up in that cage, so very far away, so round and yellow. Only Neville stuck around to hear Harry express his anger at seeing You-Know-Who hold that cage so very high above his head. Only Neville was stupid enough to believe Harry was cool anymore now that he was no longer Harry-Ringo.

But, right, Harry did not scream, could not scream, afraid that it would ruin him. Harry had finally taken it upon himself to organize a D.A. meeting. After his Harry-Ringo powers had disappeared, he figured he could use all the publicity he could get. At the meeting he assented to the idea of calling an agent to make a bloody commercial or something for charity, but decided to leave the cause he would support up to the bloody agent. Why anyone would want to help someone besides themselves was beyond him. I mean, people without jobs, living on sidewalks….yeech. Bums.

The rest of the meeting, Harry taught Dumbledore's Army how to raise one eyebrow and not the other, which he decided would be much more useful in battle than patronus-thingamajig. Anyways, everyone already knew what a great wizard and teacher he was. And it was clearly obvious that he would become the DADA teacher at the end of his seventh year, ending the one-year pattern they had been having. So what was the point?

So that night Harry had owled an agent, instructing Hedwig in that vague way of his and saying,

"Find me an agent."

To which Hedwig could only reply, "Chirp." Which of course made no sense, because the snowy owl is completely silent. Well, _ok_, she was a _magical_ owl. Happy?

She stared into his beautiful green eyes which reminded her of the forest in which she had been born on the noon of the third day. Oh! Why couldn't this boy feel the same way for her as she did for him!

Two days later Hedwig had returned. Harry had pulled the note out of the porch on her leg and read it:

_**Bobo.**_

This message made Harry sadly sad and confusedly confused. Was "Bobo" an insult? He had been going for the Boho look these days in his clothing. Had someone thought he wasn't doing it right, and decided to call him a "Bobo"? Sure, they had called him a basket-case, a nut, a kooky koo-koo head, and even…Harry couldn't bear to think of it…but he knew that they called him…oh, it was so horrible!-but he had heard them call him…POO-ON-A-STICK! Oh, the shame!

Harry was also confusedelled, rather like a heffalump. Who was this agent? How did he know that Harry was constantly updating his wardrobe to the latest Muggle fashions of the season? Just when would he get here?

Then, because Harry was a nut, he yelled and hit Hedwig top-side the head for not finding him a better agent.

Less then a day later, his agent had arrived. He had waited for him in the great hall, assuming he would enter there. And he didn't. After 5 hours of trying to tan on the front lawn, hoping to see him there, he resignedly headed up to the common room. Maybe the agent wasn't coming 'till tomorrow.

He settled down to do his potions paper on one of those super-comfy sofa's you wished you had. About halfway through his sheet of parchment, he heard something. He ignored it.

_Probably just in your head, Harry old chap. You know what it's like in there nowadays. _

Harry heard the sound again, and looked up from his paper. It seemed to be coming from the chimney above the fireplace.

_Probably just your imagination, Harry. But…if it isn't? Yes, Harry? Well, _(Harry thought in his mind really quickly, because it was quite embarrassing)_ if it isn't I hope it's a squirrel!_

Harry's curiosity was now so aroused that he had to get up from the sofa, and started pacing around

_I hope it comes down soon! I have to go potty!_

_If you're so stupid as to want a squirrel to come down the chimney, why don't you get it yourself? _

_Well, that wouldn't be fair play, would it? Usually when squirrels come down the chimney, Ron and I chase after them until we catch 'em. Then, if Hermione's not around, we eat them. _

_Raw? _

_Well, of course! Unless they're orange. Then we stuff 'em. _

_And no one disapproves of this?_

_Come to think of it, if Hermione's around, we usually stuff the live one down Malfoy's pants. _Harry smiled._ He- I mean she doesn't mind that much._

_That's kind of harsh, though, don't you think?_

"Bobo."

_No, it's not. They don't serve lobsters until the middle of second term, so we can't really use those. And he's been a ferret, so I think he can talk to them._

"Bobo."

_What if Voldemort started off just stuffing squirrels down other students' pants? Huh? And now he's the supreme dark lord. Is that what you're going to become?_

_If he did, I'd have more respect for the wanker. He can be such a jerk-off, though. I doubt I'll end up like him. I have to kill the bloody imbecile, anyway. Remember?_

"Bobo."

_Will you stop making those dratted noises?_

_What? I wasn't making them. I thought you were making them._

"Bobo. BoboBobo."

_Um, no._

_Well, I'm not making them either! _

_I think there's someone else in the room._

_Oh, the students? Don't bother about them. They're used to me talking to my alter-ego's. _

_No, I mean someone else._

_Is it a squirrel?_

_Don't think so._

_Chainmail!_

_Sorry, kid. I think it's your chimney monster though. Look there._

Harry looked at where his alter-ego had pointed. There seemed to be a weird lump covered in ashes sitting in the chimney. Upon closer inspection (poking it with his wand, as it were), it seemed to be the thing making the weird noises.

The thing moved. Harry took a step back. The thing unfolded itself and shuffled out of the chimney.

"What-what are you?" asked Harry nervously.

"Bobo," said the thing, taking a piece of newspaper out of his jacket and wiping a bit of his face off with it, revealing dark skin, equally dark eyes, and an almost toothless grin.

"Right," said Harry, taking a few more steps back as the thing approached him. He still hadn't gotten the attention of any of his classmates. Harry did strange things on a regular basis, and they were used to ignoring him.

"Bobo. Bobo." Said what Harry had now determined to be a man.

Harry, conquering the twin powers of a short attention span and ADD, remembered something.

_I've seen that word before somewhere! "Bobo." But where?_

_Let's think, Harry…You were looking for an agent and you got a letter…_

_Stay out of this, Phil. _

It came to Harry. "I was looking for an agent and got a letter! And it said "Bobo." on it!" Harry said brightly.

_And I thought that they had been making fun of my now-known-to-be-perfect style. That's a bit of a relief._ He thought cheerfully.

"Bobo," said the thing, pulling a sooty hand out of his pocket.

"Well, it's nice to meet you. I assume you're my agent?" said Harry politely.

"Bobobobobobobobo." Nodded the thing.

"Right then. Here, follow me. We'll get you cleaned up after we walk around a bit and get acquainted."

They exited the Gryffindor common room, and walked towards the great hall in silence. Harry groaned when he saw that he would have to walk by Malfoy and his troop on the way there. Think of all the painful blows they would give his new agent. He didn't want the thing to get the wrong idea of Hogwarts.

"Okay, those people up there-see them? The albino one? Well just walk by them quietly. Don't do anything to get their attention." He whispered in Bobo's ear.

"Bobo," the thing nodded.

As they walked by, Malfoy cried out, "Harry! Dear God! _Dobby _has better boho style than you!"

Pansy sneered and glared at the thing, which was emitting more frantic Bobo noises, "Yea…even that thing has better style."

Harry glanced at Malfoy's clearly expensive outfit and Pansy's layers of vintage jewelry, and then looked down at his carefully layered colored plastic trash bags.

"But-but I thought boho was supposed to be bohemian hobo style?" he said meekly.

The whole great hall burst into laughter, Malfoy's crowd doubling over and hooting.

"Well…you've got the hobo look down-pat, Potter," snickered Snape, as he passed into the great hall.

"Yea…Professor Snape has way better fashion sense than you!" laughed Pansy.

A single tear slithered down the-boy-who-lived's face. He dropped to his knees, raising his arms and face to the ceiling.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Bobo smiled and patted the quivering boy. "Bobo…." He held out a trashbag/hankerchief to Harry, who took it, used it extensively, and then laid it atop his already extensive collection of garbage apparel. He looked querulously at his new agent.

"Er…_snuffle_…do you mind if I take this….my fashion_snuffle_….I'd love some help from a master…_snuffle_…."

Bobo smiled generously. "Bobo," he said with benevolence.

"_Snuffle_…danks…."

_Bobo…_thought Bobo, shaking his head. Translation: Poor boy. Poor boy…We're going to have to do some work on this one. He nodded and winked to the threesadlostogslightlymadsouls, who were hiding behind one of the Great Hall's gargantuan doors. They smiled and winked back, performing their special secret nonexistent threesadlostogslightlymadsouls handshake, and got to work, feverishly huddling over their computer monitors.


	15. Imagination Part 1: Ronnie'sIssues

**Disclaimer:** Ooooh...I'm now married to the prince of England and own Harry Potter. Life changes, eh?

Hey devoted readers! (or not..) It's Emmy, and I told you Chronicles would never die...but this chappie is awfully short. The next one will be longer...I'll try to post it soon. I've written it already. GASP I know! Actually a bit prepared.._imagine _that. I think the following message is from Cocabella. Happy Holidays!

Well, guess what, we were SO BORED that we finally decided to get off our lazy arses and get back to writing again! Doesn't that just make your day?

* * *

Ron sat forlornly in the common room. "I need a beagle," he sighed. 

"And why would you need a beagle, Ron?" questioned Hermione, discarding one of the many books sitting on the floor next to her and picking up a new one.

"Because I'm bored."

"Are you really?"

"Yes, I am."

"Really now?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay then."

Ron began to stroke his imaginary beagle, and imagined all the lovely things he could do with such a wonderful specimen of dog. "My beagle would be very manly, you know."

Hermione raised her ever-so-active eyebrow. "As opposed to a womanly beagle?"

"Yes. My beagle would be the epitome of manliness."

"I'm sure."

Ron repeated the word "epitome" to himself a few more times, then got up from his seat in the common room and began walking his imaginary beagle. "I would name him Chewy."

"Name _who _Chewy?"

"My beagle."

"Ah." She turned a page.

Ron sauntered around for a few more minutes, waving to his imaginary diplomat friends, and throwing imaginary rocks at imaginary kids who tried to pet his imaginary dog. After a few minutes he continued talking.

"I would name him Chewy because of Chewbacca from Star Wars. He has lots of hair."

"Beagles don't have lots of hair, Ron."

Ron stopped pinching an imaginary lady's behind and turned to Hermione with a look of astonishment. "Hermione! How could you!"

Hermione looked up from her studies for the first time. "Ron, this is pointless. Beagles don't have lots of hair and _you don't have a beagle_. And you're acting like an imbecile walking around the common room pretending-well, who knows what the hell you're pretending? I don't even want to know. And pretty soon, if you carry on this way, you'll end up like Harry and you'll start believing what goes on in your head. And then you'll be just as screwed up as he is. And that's saying something. So stop. Please."

Ron smiled winningly. "You know I'm just perfectly sane." He turned from her and raised an eyebrow to his imaginary gal pal. "You be lookin' sizzling, ma darling. Call me lata. Maybe we can get together tonight and do something…oh, I dunno. _Spicy_. Eh? _Eh?_ Yeeeeaaaaahhhhh…"

Then Ron made love to the air. Much to Hermione's chagrin.

After Ron was, er, finished, he turned back around, running his finger through his hair and looking quite satisfied.

"Sorry about that, Herm. But when feisty mamas coma'calling….well, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. But don' worry 'Mione, you're not the only sane one around hea."

Hermione began to cry, mourning the hopelessness of the world of parody fanfiction, as a smug Ronald looked at his sexy ass in the reflection of the stained glass window.


End file.
